


Courage

by Juli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Sibling Incest, Smarm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an encounter with a vindictive spirit, Dean loses an important part of his personality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courage

Dean Winchester was a confident, practically fearless, hunter. That was a problem, as far as his brother, Sam, was concerned. Dean was confident to the point of being cocky, at least as far as his own safety went. The current spirit they were after was a perfect example. In fact, if it didn’t kill Dean, Sam was tempted to do it himself.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean called out. “I’ll keep her busy; you do the incantation that sends her back to hell.”

It wasn’t the division of labor that was the issue. Sam typically did the rituals. It was the way Dean chose to distract the spirit that was the problem.

“Is that the best you got, you putrid bitch?” Dean taunted as he ducked the debris the apparition tossed his way. “My granny could kick your ass.”

If he hadn’t already been chanting, Sam would have cursed under his breath at his brother’s bravado. Alive, Leticia Barroso had been a witch and necromancer. Even dead, she wasn’t an entity to mess around with. Why was it that his brother’s method of distracting a spirit usually involved pissing it off?

“C’mon, sweetheart, is that all?” Dean grinned as he avoided the decrepit refrigerator that the spirit threw at him.

Sam wasn’t quite so cavalier. Leticia’s resistance was getting more powerful, not the other way around. He returned his attention to the ritual, praying he’d finish in time.

He was right to be worried.

Whether she sensed the ritual was reaching its climax or whether Dean’s jibes were getting to her, Leticia changed tactics. Instead of trying to squash Dean into a Winchester-sized smear, the spirit instead channeled its power into manifesting physically. One moment Dean was dodging airborne missiles launched by a nearly invisible apparition; the next he was on his knees being strangled by an all-too-solid and angry ghost.

“What’s the matter, hunter?” She asked him in a sepulchral voice. “Cat got your tongue, hmmm? Not laughing at old Lettie now, are you?”

”Sammy,” Dean managed to choke out. “A little help here . . . .”

The only thing Sam could do was finish the incantation, which he proceeded to do. He spoke as quickly as he could, but was careful to enunciate correctly. Dean would be in a world of hurt if Sam had to start over.

“Where’s your courage now, hunter?” Leticia taunted Dean. “Crying out to your baby brother for help.”

Dean was beyond words, but the glare he gave the spirit spoke volumes.

Leticia turned her attention to Sam. With Dean incapacitated, she rightly perceived the younger Winchester as the bigger threat.

“Send me to hell and I’ll take a part of your brother with me,” she sneered. “The best part.”

Sam’s lip curled up in a snarl, but his voice was steady as he continued the ritual. He lacked Dean’s hunting experience, but knew very well not to trust a spirit.

“Ah, but perhaps you don’t care,” the apparition claimed, voice dripping with malice. “Always second, you’ve been. With your brother a lesser man, you’ll finally claim the spotlight; wear the pants in the family. You want him diminished.”

With a note of triumph, Sam finished the incantation. As he reached for the holy water that would end it all, he couldn’t help but ad lib. “Go to hell, you bitch.”

Leticia Barroso, or what was left of her, screamed as the holy water hit her. Her form started to dissipate, but she wasn’t quite through with the Winchesters yet.

“I warned you,” she growled. “This is one hunter that will never hunt again.”

The dwindling spirit reached out and buried her vaporous hands inside of Dean’s chest. He cried out in an anguished voice and there was nothing Sam could do directly to help. Leticia wasn’t being banished as quickly as she should, even with the ritual, so Sam doused her with holy water again. That made her shriek and she pulled away from his brother. Sam could have sworn he saw something in her hands, but he wasn’t sure. Before he could get a good look, Leticia disappeared in a swirl of light.

“Dean?” Sam asked frantically, hurrying towards his brother.

He wasn’t quick enough. Without uttering a word, Dean pitched face forward onto the ground.

“Dean!” 

It seemed like an eternity before Sam was at Dean’s side. He turned his brother over carefully and checked for a pulse, closing his eyes in thankfulness when he found one. Dean was pale, but breathing. Sam couldn’t find a mark on him, but knew that was meaningless. Spirits could inflict the type of damage that wasn’t always visible to the naked eye.

“Dean?” He slapped gently at his brother’s face. “Are you with me? Wake up. Please.”

It was far too long before he got a response.

“S’mmy?” Dean slurred as he tried to open his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam assured him, for once not protesting the nickname. “Are you okay?”

”Don’t know,” Dean answered, finally looking at his brother. 

There was something off in his gaze, but Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He reached under both of Dean’s arms and lifted the older man so that he was sitting up.

“Is — is she gone?” Dean asked, eyes darting around the junkyard.

Sam felt his brother trembling and began to get worried about shock setting in. Shrugging out of his jacket, he wrapped it around Dean’s shoulders. “Yeah, she’s gone. We did it.”

“Y-you did it,” Dean stammered. “All I did was be-be a p-punching bag.”

That kind of humble statement was certainly nothing like his cocky brother, nor was accepting the jacket without a pithy comment. Or, really, accepting the jacket at all. Sam looked at Dean askance, getting more worried by the minute.

“You know what, let’s get you back to the room,” Sam suggested, finally deciding on a course of action. “There’s nothing more that needs to be done here.”

It took a couple of tries to get Dean to his feet and, once there, his brother was anything but steady. Sam left Dean long enough to grab the holy water and book he’d been reading the ritual from. He shoved them into a duffle bag and with it tucked under one arm and the other wrapped around his sibling, they made their way back to the Impala. It was slow going, with Dean startling at every loud noise, but after being choked by an angry spirit, Sam didn’t blame him for being jumpy.

“I’m driving,” Sam announced when they made it to the car. Dean didn’t argue, just dug out the keys and handed them to his brother.

Dean didn’t so much get into the car as collapse into it. Once in the seat, he huddled into a miserable ball, shaking a little less in the relative warmth of the vehicle. Sam hurried over to the other side and, after tossing the duffle into the back, took off in a blaze of burning rubber.

It was a good thing it was late and the streets were virtually empty, because Sam’s driving was not receiving the lion’s share of his attention. That was reserved for his brother. Dean was practically curled up in a ball and was shaking so hard that Sam turned the heat up as soon as he could. Dean’s breathing was also a little labored and he was making small noises in the back of his throat. If those sounds were coming from someone else, Sam would have called them whimpers.

Dean Winchester, however, did not whimper. Ever.

A big semi flew past them, going the opposite direction. Its lights were bright and its passing rocked the Impala. Sam winced a little, but otherwise disregarded it. Dean, on the other hand, cried out and clutched at the door handle.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

It took Dean a moment to answer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Son of a bitch just startled me is all.”

Sam shot his brother another look. Dean was so pale that Leticia Barroso seemed colorful in comparison and his face showed a fine sheen of perspiration.

“That’s it,” Sam declared. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!” Dean protested, sitting straight up as he looked at Sam with a distraught expression. Seeming to be surprised by his own vehemence, the fight went out of Dean just as abruptly and he shrank back down on the seat. “Just take me somewhere safe.”

The way Dean worded his request bothered Sam, but they were almost to the motel. He decided not press his brother just yet. It wasn’t as if a hospital was equipped to deal with a ghost’s attack and, besides, if there turned out to be physical cause, he could always haul Dean’s ass to the ER later.

It was just a few minutes until they were pulling into the motel’s parking lot. It wasn’t the highest class of establishment and there was a decided lack of decent lighting. They’d been there a couple of days already, though, so Sam had no problems pulling up to the spot right outside their room. Twisting in his seat, he grabbed the duffle bag out of the back and got out. By the time he made it around to the passenger side, he was expecting Dean to be getting out of the car. Dean was an independent sort and it seemed the worse he was injured, the more he protested he could do everything himself.

But this time Dean wasn’t trying to get out of the car. He was just sitting there, head down on his knees.

“Dean?” Sam asked, heart in his throat. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He opened the door and reached in, taking his brother’s elbow and encouraging Dean up and out. Unlike in the junkyard, this time Dean was steady on his feet. Even so, getting into the motel room was difficult. Although Dean was moving okay on his own, he was seriously in Sam’s personal space, pressing so close to Sam as he unlocked the door that he actually inhibited his brother’s movements.

“Go on,” Sam instructed as he got the door open. “Get in.”

Dean took one step into the room and then stopped. If Sam hadn’t been watching him carefully, he would have walked right into him. As it was, he put one hand on the small of Dean’s back and encouraged his brother into the motel room. Dean only went in far enough that Sam could squeeze in behind him. Once in, Sam flipped the light switch on, closed the door and tossed the duffle bag onto the nearest bed.

Dean just stood there, eyes darting around the room, panting. Sam was reminded of a cat he’d once seen backed into a corner by a big dog. His throat tightened as he remembered how Dean had driven the dog away and then spent the next few minutes talking softly to the cat, getting it to calm down.

“Sit down,” Sam took his brother’s arm again and gently guided Dean to the bed. He sat Dean down on the edge and perched on the mattress opposite him. The beds were so close together that their knees almost touched. “Tell me what’s going on and don’t tell me ‘nothing’ or that you’re fine. That bullshit won’t work; I know you too well.”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean whispered hoarsely. He wouldn’t look at his younger brother. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

“Is it physical?” Sam persisted. “Do you feel ill or weak?”

“Yes,” Dean answered, then shook his head. “No. I told you, I don’t know.”

Sam closed his eyes and told himself to be objective, like it was any other supernatural case. “Okay, start at the beginning. Leticia’s shade was choking you. What did you feel then?”

Dean gave him an exasperated look. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe, genius boy.”

“Okay, okay, that’s good,” Sam responded, ignoring the personal dig. “She was choking you, you couldn’t breathe, and then she threatened me.”

“She did?” Dean looked miffed. “I didn’t hear that.”

“I think you were busy passing out by then,” Sam explained, distracted. “She said that if I didn’t stop the ritual, that if I sent her to hell, she’d take part of you with her.”

“She could do that?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “I didn’t think so, but she did something to you right before she disappeared. It was like her hands sank into you and then I thought she might have been carrying something with her when she dissipated.”

Dean wrapped his arms around his midriff. “I don’t like the sound of that, Sammy.”

Sam couldn’t help but notice that his brother looked distracted. His eyes kept wandering from some point beyond Sam’s shoulder, to the window and back again.

“She said she would take the best part of you. That you wouldn’t hunt again.” Sam remembered more of his confrontation with the ghost as he spoke. “Dean, how do you feel now?”

To his amazement, Dean blushed and looked down.

“Dean, come on,” Sam cajoled. “You can tell me. What are you feeling?”

Sam thought his brother wasn’t going to answer, but after a few moments, he did.

“Afraid,” Dean whispered, not looking up. “I feel afraid, Sam.”

At that moment, Sam’s world spun. He’d been worried it was something of that nature, but never had he hated being right so much. Dean couldn’t be afraid. His big brother was never afraid, that was the problem.

“Afraid of what?” He asked. Maybe Dean was wrong.

The sound Dean made started out as a laugh, but ended almost in a sob. “What am I not afraid of, Sammy? I was afraid of the junkyard, because I thought things could be hiding in the shadows. In the car, I was afraid of going so fast and I was sure that truck was gonna hit us. When we got here, I was terrified that there was someone waiting in our room, looking for an opportunity to pounce. I’m afraid of the dark and that there’s something under the bed and, oh God,” his voice broke off and it took a moment for Dean to continue. “I’m really afraid of the spider crawling down the wall behind you.”

For several heartbeats, Sam just sat there, trying to absorb it. He could feel his mouth moving, but nothing came out. Then he got up and, moving deliberately, walked over to the wall and smashed his hand against it. No more spider; it was reduced to a smear on the wallpaper. Still without speaking, he walked to the window and jerked the curtains shut and then went back to the beds. Before sitting down, he knelt and carefully looked under each one of them.

“Okay,” Sam said, taking a big breath as he returned to his seat. “No more spider, you can’t see the dark anymore, and these beds are perfectly safe.”

Dean shook his head, refusing to make eye contact again. “It’s not that easy, Sam.”

“Hey, I know that,” Sam said earnestly, leaning forward to put a hand on Dean’s knee. It hurt to see Dean flinch away from his touch. “But we’re going to figure this out, okay? Me and you together. Whatever that witch to you, it doesn’t stand a chance.”

Dean finally looked at him. “It’s like I’m not whole, Sam. I-I’m not going to be much good to you. No way I can hunt like this. I’m so sorry.”

Sam decided that defeated tone in Dean’s voice was one of his least favorite sounds. Ever.

“Not your fault, Dean,” Sam told him firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sam did something then that he’d ached to do almost on a regular basis since rejoining his brother in the family trade. He reached out and pulled his brother into his arms for a hug. Dean resisted for a moment and then clung tightly, tremors racking his body.

“Oh, God, Sam, what am I gonna do?” Dean asked, pressing his face to Sam’s chest. “I can’t live like this.”

That statement, more than anything, brought home to Sam the horror of what had been done to his brother. Dean Winchester did not despair. He wasn’t of the ‘if life hands you lemons, make lemonade’ mind set; Dean’s attitude was more like ‘if life hands you lemons, chuck them right back until life coughs up something better’ philosophy. In other words, Dean didn’t sit around, bemoaning his state, he did something about it.

“Yes, you can live with it,” Sam soothed him. “Just for a little while. Just until we figure it out.”

“Sam . . . . “

“I’ll be right with you, every step of the way,” Sam promised. He pulled back from his brother so he could give him a reassuring smile. “A couple days from now, we’ll be laughing about this. You’ll see.”

“If you say so,” Dean didn’t sound convinced.

Sam hadn’t a clue how to proceed, but knew he’d have to make something up, fast, if he wanted Dean to remain calm. “I tell you what, you go take a shower. We’ll go to bed and get a fresh start on it in the morning.”

Dean looked towards the bathroom and then back to Sam. “A shower?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. Dean was like a cat and hated to go to bed dirty. Besides, Sam needed a few moments to himself so he could maintain his composure. “Something wrong with that?”

“I’ll be in there,” Dean gestured to the bathroom with his chin, “and you’ll be in here?”

Ah.

“We can leave the door open, if you like” Sam offered. “It’s not a big deal.”

Dean blushed. “No, I’ll be all right.”

Even so, after Dean gathered his things, Sam made a point of going into the small bathroom and checking it out. After making a show of looking behind the shower curtain and peering into every nook and cranny, he declared it safe. Dean’s eyes were big in his pale face, but he didn’t protest as Sam moved back into the main part of the room. Sam noticed, though, that his brother kept the door open a crack.

Sam stood by the bed until he heard the water turn on. At that point, he sank down onto the mattress, hiding his face in his hands. Dean had been violated by Leticia Barroso’s spirit. Sam could find no other word for it. The apparition had torn a vital part of Dean’s personality from him, leaving him a shivering wreck. If that wasn’t the ultimate form of debasement, Sam didn’t know what was.

And, Dean, God help him, only had Sam to get him through it.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

The door was a problem and Dean stared at it after Sam left. If he closed and locked it, then the bathroom was secure. No one could sneak up on him while he was in the shower. The down side, though, was that Dean would be shut off from Sam. Anything could attack his sibling in the other room and Dean would never know.

In the end, he compromised by shutting the door most of the way. Dean hated the indecision that made him agonize over it almost as much as he hated the way his insides trembled like jelly.

“Suck it up, pussy boy,” he muttered to himself.

Dean turned the water on and started undressing. Halfway through, though, he got worried. Maybe Sam had left. His brother was good at that. He gave in to the overwhelming need just to see Sam and moved quietly to the door. He peeked through the crack and saw his brother sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

It cut like a knife to see Sam so dejected. He wasn’t supposed to get worried like that; he had Dean to look out for him. Except at the moment, Dean was about as formidable as a lost puppy. Dean stood and stared for a few minutes, hands clenching and unclenching in fists. He wanted like anything to go out there and apologize to Sam for being a burden, but he couldn’t.

He was too afraid he’d see pity in his brother’s eyes.

With a soft growl of frustration, Dean turned back to the shower. The water was hot by this time and steam obscured the mirror. It only took a moment to strip the rest of his clothes off and begin to step in. He balked at the last moment, images of the movie “Psycho” flashing through his head.

“You idiot,” Dean scolded himself. “Like Sammy’d let anything get by him.”

The fact that his brother was out there, keeping an eye out for him, was reassuring for a few minutes. Dean managed to get in the shower and soap himself down before his nerves got the best of him. He strained to listen over the sound of the running water, sure that someone was in the room with him. When he couldn’t hear anything, he decided to just rinse off and have done with it.

That was when the power went off.

Having no windows, the small room became as dark as a tomb. For a full ten seconds, Dean couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. And then he panicked.

“Sam!”

He flailed around, trying to find his way out of the shower. His hands hit vinyl and Dean stumbled as he lost his balance. He tried to grab onto something, anything, to keep from falling, but became hopelessly tangled in the shower curtain. The darkness seemed to press close, like a living thing, stealing all of the air from the room.

When hands gripped him, Dean struck out, thinking that he was being attacked.

“Whoa, Dean, it’s just me.”

Dean went limp at Sam’s voice penetrated his terror.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam’s voice was a balm on Dean’s frayed nerves. “You’re okay, Dean. The power just went out is all.”

With Sam’s help, Dean extricated himself from the shower curtain. As soon as he was free, Dean buried himself in Sam’s warmth, wrapping himself in his brother’s presence.

Sam, every bit as blinded by the power outage as Dean, made a quiet ‘omph” noise as his brother’s weight hit him. He backed them up until they hit a wall and, once there, slid them both unceremoniously to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered hoarsely as he burrowed closer. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”

“Not your fault,” Sam replied firmly as he settled Dean against him. “I’m here with you now. It’s okay, Dean.”

It was still dark and the blackness surrounding them made it seem like the two were in their own little universe. That, along with Sam’s continuing patter of reassuring words and warm touch, helped Dean begin to calm down.

“Sam?” Dean asked when he felt he could speak with a steady voice.

“Yeah, Dean.”

“Don’t call Dad, okay?” Damn. Despite his best efforts, Dean’s voice had quivered. 

Sam had been rubbing Dean’s arm and the way the motion stopped momentarily made Dean wince. “Man. You did already, didn’t you?”

“No,” Sam was quick to say. Then he added, “But I was thinking about it.”

“Well, don’t.” It wasn’t so much a request as a demand.

“Why not?” Sam questioned. “I would think having Dad around would make you feel more . . . secure.”

Dean shook his head, knowing Sam would feel it, even if he couldn’t see the motion in the blackness of the bathroom. “No way. He can’t see me like this.”

Sam snorted. “Dude. Right now, no one can see you.”

Normally one to appreciate a good joke, Dean blew out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, Sam. I don’t want him to see . . . see me like this.”

“And how’s that, Dean?” Sam asked gently. “How do you think Dad would see you?”

That was an easy thing to answer. “A sniveling coward.”

Sam sighed. “You’re not a coward, Dean. You’re the bravest person I know.”

“Yeah, right. Pull the other one.” Dean retorted. “Bambi could kick my ass right now.”

“It won’t last forever,” Sam stated, his voice utterly sure. “It’s like the lights going out. It’s temporary.”

“Sure, if you say so, Sammy.”

Just then the lights popped on. Sam looked up and, for a moment, Dean thought he saw an expression of uncertainty on his brother’s face. That was quickly washed away, though, by a wide grin at the timing of the returning power.

“See?” Sam said smugly. “Temporary.”

Dean sighed, unwilling to admit defeat. The return of the lights, though, brought home a fact he should have realized earlier. He was stark naked, wet, and practically sitting in his brother’s lap.

“Shit,” Dean yelped. He scrambled for a towel and quickly covered himself.

Sam chuckled. “Are you done with the water?” 

At Dean’s nod, Sam used his ridiculously long arms to reach around and fumble with the shower controls. In short order, the spray of water stopped as the shower was shut down.

Dean got dressed as Sam used the rest of the towels to dry off the floor. Dean’s tumble out of the shower had pulled the vinyl curtain back and the whole area surrounding the tub was damp. Dean was relieved that Sam was occupied while he pulled his sweats on; he felt weird being naked around his little brother. That wasn’t something he could blame on Lettie’s whammy either, because it’d been going on for a while. 

His task completed before Sam’s was, Dean hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was hanging around the bathroom until Sam was ready to leave. Luckily, his brother finished mopping up soon after Dean got dressed and dumped the towels into the tub. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sammy obviously wasn’t going to take a shower, at least not that night, which meant that Dean wouldn’t have to agonize over whether to stay in the bathroom with him or try it on his own in the other room. 

“All right,” Sam stated when he was through. “I think it might be a good idea if you got some rest.”

Dean grimaced but let himself be led out of the bathroom. “What about you?”

Sam shrugged. “You know me, I don’t need much sleep.”

“You need more than you’re getting,” Dean protested.

His brother’s answering smile was tired. “I’m just going to stay up for a little while and do some research, I promise.”

Since Dean knew the research would be on his behalf, he didn’t complain. Instead, he crawled into bed. Normally, Dean took the bed closer to the door, but when he started towards that one, Sam shook his head. Dean didn’t argue. Instead, he got between the covers and sighed.

There was something comforting about knowing Sam was still awake. His brother had turned off most of the lights, but the glow from the laptop screen illuminated his face. Dean would open his eyes every once in a while, just to reassure himself that Sam was still there. Sam wore the look of intense concentration he got whenever he was researching. From his scowl, though, he wasn’t having any success. Dean tried not to worry about that, telling himself that everything was fine. He was warm, comfortable and felt relatively safe. Even so, Dean couldn’t sleep, although for Sam’s sake, he pretended. Dean was tired, but he just couldn’t settle.

After about an hour, Sam sighed and started shutting the computer down. Dean was still feigning sleep and tense under the blanket. When Sam started walking towards the bathroom, Dean almost gave up his pretense, but he relaxed when Sam merely turned the bathroom light on and partially shut the door. Even when Sam turned off the last lamp, the light from the bathroom kept the room from being completely dark. 

Sam shucked off his jeans and shirt and padded over to the beds. He rooted through the duffle bag that was still on the bed he’d been using. When he pulled out a flashlight, he set it on the nightstand before tossing the bag aside. Dean had been watching through barely slitted eyes, but he shut them as his brother got close. 

He shouldn’t have bothered.

“Move over,” Sam instructed quietly as he stood in front of bed that Dean was in.

Dean lifted his head, blinking up at Sam as though he’d been asleep. “Huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes as he reached out and nudged his brother. “Give it up, Dean. You’re as awake as I am.”

“How’d you know?” Dean asked, chagrined, even as he obligingly slid across the mattress to give Sam room.

“You’re a tummy sleeper,” Sam explained as he climbed in. “You’ve been on your side the whole time. Watching me, I might add.”

Dean sighed in something close to contentment. He was wedged between Sam and the wall, as safe as he could be, and Sammy’s body heat was dispelling the clamminess left over from Dean’s interrupted shower. Suddenly exhausted, Dean yawned.

“Dean, we’re gonna . . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean finished for him. “Figure this out.”

He was getting kind of tired of Sam repeating the reassurances. It was almost as if Sam said it enough, he’d begin to believe it himself.

“Yeah, well, we will,” Sam stubbornly replied.

“You know what I hate most about this?” Dean complained even as he inched closer to his brother.

“What?” Sam asked. He either didn’t notice Dean moving closer or was choosing to ignore it. Probably the latter; Sammy always was a smart boy.

“The never ending chick flick moments,” Dean explained. 

He could see Sam’s teeth gleam white as his brother smiled. “Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

“You do and I’ll kick your ass,” Dean threatened. The taunt made him feel a little better about needing his brother so desperately close.

“You’ll try,” Sam corrected him.

“I don’t care how yellow my belly gets,” Dean claimed. “I’ll always be able to wipe the floor with you and don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t,” Sam replied softly.

Dean hated being condescended to. He wanted to turn his back on his brother, but couldn’t make himself do it, so he settled for closing his eyes.

“And we will figure this out,” Sam added in a whisper.

And for a minute, Dean almost believed him.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Sam woke to the sensation of a warm body pressed close to his. It’d been a long time since he’d had that feeling, not since Jessica died. Not for a minute, though, did Sam mistake his current companion for his deceased girlfriend. The scent, the muscled body, and the brushy hair were pure Dean.

Much to Sam’s relief, Dean had slept soundly and, for a change, so had Sam. They’d started out on their own sides of the bed, but sometime during the night, Dean had migrated into Sam’s space. Sam woke laying flat on his back, with Dean a living body pillow snuggled along his side. Curling his arm around Dean’s back was pure instinct, as was stroking his hand down Dean’s spine. His brother gave a sleepy sound of contentment and nestled closer.

What the hell was he doing?

His instinct was to snatch his hand back, but Sam made himself move slowly. The last thing he wanted to happen was for Dean to wake while they were. . . cuddling. His brother was already discombobulated enough the way it was.

Carefully and reluctantly, Sam extricated himself from the other Winchester and climbed out of the bed. Dean sighed and slid into the warmth that Sam had just vacated, on his way to waking up, but not all the way there yet. Sam would have liked to go into the bathroom and take his shower, but he didn’t dare leave and risk Dean waking up alone. If what had happened during the power outage the night before was any indication, Dean’s sense of security was even more fragile than Sam had first thought.

Sam puttered around the room while Dean slept on, dressing and powering up his laptop to continue the research. By the time Dean finally opened his eyes, Sam was already starting to twitch from the need for coffee.

Dean could wake quickly when the need warranted, having been drilled in such things from early childhood. When given the chance, though, he preferred to wake slowly, stretching and gradually acclimating to the idea of getting up for the day. This morning, however, as he became aware, Dean tensed, curling into a ball under the covers.

“Hey,” Sam said, getting up from the rickety desk that was in the room and approaching the bed. “I’m right here.”

He was gratified to see his brother relax at the sound of his voice.

Dean opened his eyes all the way and blinked up at him. “Hey, Sammy.”

“I take it nothing’s changed since last night?” Sam shuffled on his feet, knowing already what the answer was, but having to ask all the same.

“Still a pussy, yup,” Dean answered. “Freaked out a little when I thought I was alone in the room.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Sam assured him. “We’re in this together. We’re brothers, remember?”

“Yeah, brothers,” Dean repeated morosely. He sat up in bed and sat with his back to the headboard, bringing his knees up to his chest. It was as opposite of Dean’s normal sprawl as it was possible to get.

“We’ll figure it out, you’ll see,” Sam told him.

“You said that last night,” Dean pointed out. “And, oddly enough, I’m still a scaredy cat.”

“Well, that was last night,” Sam said with more confidence than he really felt. “We’ve barely begun to search.”

Before Dean could reply, his stomach rumbled loudly.

“I see some things haven’t changed,” Sam teased his brother. “Still thinking with your stomach, I see.”

“Hey, Lettie turned me into a coward, not an anorexic,” Dean tried to retort with his usual aplomb. His comment fell far short of the mark, but Sam was encouraged by the attempt.

“I need to shower, then we can see about getting some food,” Sam decided to be as matter of fact about the situation as possible. Maybe if he didn’t act embarrassed, Dean wouldn’t be either. “Will you be okay in here?”

Dean immediately paled. “Um. . . if you don’t mind, maybe I could shave or something while you’re in there?”

“Not a problem,” Sam responded, not batting an eye. He’d figured, after what happened during Dean’s shower the night before, that his brother might need to stick close for a while.

The Winchester brothers had grown up on the road together and, six months before when Sam had rejoined the family business, they’d easily fallen back into old patterns. It felt a little odd to shower, knowing that Dean was just on the other side of the curtain, but Sam coped. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help but remember holding a naked, wet Dean the evening before and, with Dean within arm’s reach, couldn’t afford to let his body respond to the memory the way it wanted to.

“You okay in there, Sammy?” Dean asked, a tightness in his tone that indicated stress. “You didn’t drop the soap and slip picking it up or anything, did you?”

Bending over for the soap brought a whole new set of mental images and Sam stifled a groan. “No, I’m fine. Almost done.”

Sam quickly finished and reached for his towel, drying off inside the shower instead of walking out nude. Only when the damp towel was around his hips, did he venture out. Dean was packing Sam’s shaving kit. Since Sam knew damn well that he’d packed it already, Dean must have been taking everything out and putting it back as a way to keep busy.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked.

“Just peachy,” Dean replied. He wiped his hands against his thighs.

“My clothes are in the other room,” Sam pointed out. “And so are yours.”

Dean looked down, as if just then realizing that he was still in his sweats. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

It was a relief that Dean was busy getting dressed at the same time that Sam was; it covered up any awkwardness. There was time when Sam could be around a half-clothed Dean and think nothing of it. Being back on the road as an adult, though, had brought some changes. As Sam emerged from his grief over Jessica, he’d noticed some things about his brother, some things that were far from fraternal. So far, Dean seemed blessedly unaware of Sam’s attraction towards him. As far as Sam was concerned, that was the way it was going to stay.

“All right,” Sam announced as soon as they were both ready. “There’s that diner down the road. Let’s hit breakfast and then the library.”

“Diner?” Dean gulped. “As in out? Out there?”

Sam stifled a groan at his own insensitivity. Of course Dean would be afraid to leave the room. 

“We don’t have any food here, Dean.” It wasn’t exactly the kind of lodging that would have room service. “It’s too early for pizza delivery, so our choices are to eat somewhere or for you to stay here while I go and bring something back.”

“Alone?” Dean squeaked, not even frowning at the way his voice broke. “Sam, you promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“And I won’t, not if you don’t want me to.” Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He could feel the other man trembling under his touch. “It’s up to you, Dean.”

“Man,” Dean looked down to where his hands were twisting the soft fabric of his shirt tail. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Sam didn’t try to talk him out of it. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled loudly.

Dean snorted. “B-but we have to get food, so I guess it’s o-out.”

“All right,” Sam replied calmly as he tucked a gun into the back of his pants and put his jacket on to hide it. “We can do this, it’s no big deal. Just remember, I’m right here, I’m armed, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sam kept a hand on the small of Dean’s back as he encouraged him from the motel room. It was early yet and no one was out and about. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and escorted Dean to the Impala. Once his brother was safely in, Sam got behind the driver’s seat and headed them towards the diner.

Before they were out of the parking lot, Dean was scrunched down in his seat. Sam noticed that the other man was careful not to look out the window, although he kept one arm braced against the door as though expecting to be in a car crash at any moment. Dean had always claimed that Sam drove like a grandma, but their trip to the diner was the first time that Sam deliberately made sure that he was worthy of the teasing. He held strictly to the speed limit, if not a few miles an hour under, and was meticulous about having enough room when he pulled out in front of someone. Even so, Dean had his eyes squeezed shut and had broken out into a light sweat by the time Sam pulled in to the diner.

“Okay?” Sam asked as he turned the car off.

Dean opened one eye. “I think I’m going to get sick of being asked that.”

“Get used to it,” Sam warned him. “It’s my turn to take care of you for a change and you know how thorough I am.”

“Kill me now,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam smirked as he got out of the car. Giving Dean something to snark about was as good as chicken soup for his Winchester soul. Looking at the diner, Sam was relieved to see that it wasn’t too busy; being around people probably wasn’t going to be easy for Dean. Sure enough, as he turned back to check, he found that Dean still hadn’t left the Impala.

He waited for a moment, but when it was obvious that Dean wasn’t going to leave the car of his own accord, Sam walked back to the vehicle. Dean was staring at the building in front of him with an expression of horror and flinched when Sam opened the car door.

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “It’s just a diner. We’ve been in a thousand of places like this since we were kids. We were just in this one yesterday. I think if you stay away from the cottage cheese plate, you’ll be just fine.”

“It’s not funny, Sam,” Dean whispered. “It’s not like I’m facing a werewolf with a toothpick here. It’s just a freaking restaurant and I’m afraid to go in.”

Sam squatted down. “I know it’s not funny, but, remember, I’m with you every step of the way. All you have to do is let me help you.”

Dean looked at him, eyes wide and more vulnerable than Sam could remember seeing his brother. While he was conscious, anyway. Wordlessly, Sam stood and put a hand under Dean’s elbow, helping his brother from the car. He could feel the older man’s body shuddering and didn’t try to stop Dean from walking as close as possible as they entered the diner. In fact, as they approached the counter, the waitress obviously didn’t see Dean at first.

“Just one, honey?” She asked Sam.

Sam could feel his brother hiding behind him, all but pressed against his back. The other diners weren’t staring at them, but clearly Dean felt that they were. Dean was hardly a small man, but Sam’s unusual size provided the perfect shelter.

“There’s two of us,” Sam corrected her, holding up his fingers. “And do you have a quiet booth or something? My brother’s having a bad morning.”

The waitress’ matronly face had screwed up with disapproval at what she perceived as hijinx, but once she heard the word ‘brother,’ she relaxed a little. After studying Sam’s face and apparently liking the sincerity she saw there, she relaxed a little more.

“Sure thing, hon,” she gestured to the men. “Follow me.”

Sam pulled Dean from behind him as he followed the woman deeper into the dinner. He wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder and kept him moving. Sam could hear murmurs as the other customers noticed the unusual display, but his attention was mostly for Dean.

“Will this do?”

The waitress’ question pulled Sam’s attention from his brother. Looking up, he saw she had taken them to a booth in the back and that there were several empty booths between them and the nearest patrons.

“Perfect,” he told her with a smile. Making note of her nametag, he thanked her. “Vivian, thank you so much.”

“Sure thing, hon,” she watched as Sam ushered Dean into the booth first and then sat down next to him, keeping his brother safely sandwiched between him and the wall. With another wall behind them and the window not starting until seat across from them, Dean was as secure as it was possible for Sam to make him.

Vivian slapped down a couple of menus. “I’ll be right back with some coffee.”

She was gone before Sam could thank her again. He shoved thoughts of coffee out of his mind for a moment and turned to Dean. His brother was sitting almost huddled in the corner of the booth. Dean’s head was down and he’d made no attempt to open his menu.

“Hey, you all right?” Sam asked. He wanted to wrap his arm around the other man again, but was mindful that they were in public. Deciding it was necessary to be cautious, Sam contented himself with rubbing Dean’s shoulder.

“This sucks,” Dean repeated. The phrase appeared to be Dean’s mantra for the whole situation, but Sam couldn’t think of anything that described it any better.

“Just hang in there, “ Sam encouraged him. He gave one last pat to Dean’s arm and turned to the menus. “What are you going to have?”

Dean flinched when another customer walked in the door. “I’m not hungry, Sam.”

Sam knew his brother too well to accept that. “Yes, you are.”

That got him a glare. “My belly might be yellow, Sam, but I know when it’s empty or not. And it’s not.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam snorted.

Vivian came back with a steaming pot of coffee. There was a coffee mug at each setting and Sam hurried to turn his and Dean’s over. For a moment, he was tempted to turn over the two at the empty spots, but decided that would be greedy.

“Cream, hon?”

“Yes, please.” Sam’s eyes automatically slid over to Dean, but the usual jibes about being a girl because he wanted milk for his coffee didn’t come. In fact, Dean had pressed himself even further into the corner of the booth and conspicuously wasn’t looking at the waitress. “He’ll take his black.”

Vivian eyed Dean nervously, but poured the coffee readily enough. “You boys ready to order?”

“Yeah,” Sam stated. “I’ll have the oatmeal, with brown sugar, if you have it.”

The waitress nodded absently, making note of Sam’s request on her pad. “And what about you, hon?” She asked Dean. “What’ll you have?”

Dean just shook his head and did his best to disappear.

Sam sighed. If Dean was refusing food, then things were bad; it was a rare occasion indeed when Dean Winchester couldn’t eat. Sam knew he had to insist, though. The constant fear meant constant adrenaline and that was a drain on his brother’s body. Sam wasn’t about to let Dean run himself down.

“He’ll have the Hungry Man’s Special,” Sam ordered for his brother. He knew he was being overly optimistic about the amount of food Dean would likely eat, but wanted to give him a variety of choices. “Eggs scrambled, hash browns instead of American fries, sausage links, and white toast.”

“You got it,” Vivian nodded. Instead of walking away towards the kitchen, however, she tilted her head in contemplation. “My sister’s boy is autistic. Is he something like that?”

Sam wasn’t offended by the question. In fact, he was delighted by it. He’d been wondering how to excuse Dean’s condition to people and here the very first person they’d encountered came up with it for him.

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam answered. “All the people and noise is hard for him.”

Vivian nodded sagely. “Jeffrey’s like that. Loud sounds really send him into a tizzy. I’ll do my best to keep this corner quiet.” She tilted her head and gave Sam a considering look. “You’re real good with him, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Sam smiled and shrugged. “He’s my brother.”

That said it all for him and from the way she smiled back, Vivian understood. Without another word, she headed for the kitchen.

“I said I’m not hungry,” Dean rumbled after she was gone. 

“I don’t care, you’re going to eat,” Sam replied firmly. He didn’t want to be a bully, but Dean was going to take care of himself.

“I’m not a kid,” Dean slapped his hand against the table in frustration and then shrank back from the noise. 

Sam ignored the flinch, even if seeing it made his stomach churn. “No, you’re not.”

Wishing he’d thought to grab a newspaper on the way into the diner, Sam started outlining his plan of attack for researching what had happened to Dean. Since Dean knew their typical research methodology as well as Sam did, it wasn’t much of a distraction, but the younger man would take what he could get. Dean listened quietly, which was a feat for Dean Winchester. He kept his face turned away from Sam, which Sam didn’t take personally. Behind him was the rest of the diner and Dean was probably using the same tactic practiced by cats and toddlers for centuries. In other words, if he couldn’t see them, then the rest of the diner’s occupants couldn’t see him.

Vivian was looking out for them, because it took less time for their food to arrive than Sam would have expected. That was good, because a group of men had come in and Dean looked ready to crawl right through the wall. Eating would get his mind off the other customers.

“Here you go, hon,” the waitress said as she put a heaping bowl of oatmeal in front of Sam. Her tone was a lot gentler when she carefully slid Dean’s plate in front of him. “And here’s yours, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Vivian,” Sam smiled at her, trying not to grin at Dean getting the sweetie treatment. 

The Winchesters had practiced a division of labor for years where women were considered. Sam handled the motherly types who wanted to pinch his cheeks and feed him, while Dean managed those encounters where flirting was advantageous. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sam couldn’t help but wonder how Dean liked being the ‘sweetie.’

“Eat it while it’s hot,” she ordered with a smile.

Sam tucked into his oatmeal and almost moaned with pleasure when he got his first taste. The cereal was warm and thick and sweet, just the way he liked it. He watched Dean under lowered lashes, but his brother just picked at his food. The table of men near them was getting louder and when there was a burst of laughter, Dean dropped his fork. Sam calmly leaned over and picked it up before handing it to Dean.

By the time Sam finished his oatmeal, the diner had begun to fill up. Vivian gave them an apologetic look, but she had no choice but to start seating other customers in the booths next to theirs. When Dean started to twitch, Sam decided that he couldn’t torture his brother any longer. When Vivian came to refill their coffee, Sam instead asked for the bill.

“Can I get your brother a box?” She asked, having learned not to bother to try and talk to Dean directly.

Sam smiled at her thoughtfulness. “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Be right on it, hon,” she assured him and hurried away.

Turning back to his brother, Sam rubbed Dean’s shoulder. “Hang in there, all right? We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

Dean flinched back and Sam frowned. Of all the things Dean had been frightened of, he’d never reacted with fear towards Sam. He reached for his brother, but then realized that Dean’s frightened gaze was fixated behind him. Sam turned to find that the three men from the nearby table had gotten up and were standing close by.

“Well, ain’t that precious,” the nearest one drawled.

Sam felt his brother start to shake and his typical desire to avoid a fight went right out the window. “Do you have a problem?”

There were snorts of laughter and the first man answered. “Yeah, we got a problem. We don’t like your kind here. Your friend there looks a little delicate. You oughta leave before he gets all messed up.”

The men had entered after the Winchesters had been seated. Sam took advantage of that.

“I didn’t start this, fellas,” he said in a deceptively mild voice. He patted Dean one last time and slowly slid out of the booth. Sam stood to his full height, looming over the men while confronting them and letting any trace of friendliness drain out of his expression. “But believe me when I say that I’ll have absolutely no problem in ending it.”

The diner went suddenly silent, making the muted clicking of three jaws dropping clearly audible. The men who’d confronted Sam looked like they wanted to back down, but their pride kept them from it. 

“Harold Tuner, what in God’s name are you doing?” The waitress was hopping mad. “You leave them alone. Can’t you see that boy isn’t right?”

Sam would have preferred more sensitivity, but he couldn’t argue that Vivian was an able champion. With her berating them, the men had no choice but to back down. Once they were safely in their seats, Sam let his fists unclench. He turned to Dean and found that his brother was cowering in the booth.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Sam soothed. “They’re just guys with more hot air than sense.”

“Sam, can we go?” Dean pleaded. “I just. . . I want to go.”

“Sure, Dean,” Sam reassured him. He reached out and helped Dean from the booth. Not caring who was watching, he wrapped his arm around his brother and started guiding him towards the door. 

A hand on his arm stopped Sam and he turned, ready to defend Dean again, but it was Vivian. Her smile was a little shaky.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she apologized.

“Not your fault,” Sam shrugged. He dug a couple of bills out of his pocket and tossed them on the table. “Looks like we’re not going to need that box after all.”

She nodded. “You take care of that brother of yours, hon.”

Sam’s smile was bittersweet. “Oh, you can count on that.”

He had no idea what was going on with Dean, but taking care of his brother while he was incapacitated? Yeah, Sam was sure of that.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Any day that started out cowering behind his brother was a bad day for Dean Winchester. It was his job to protect Sammy, not the other way around. It was damn unnatural to be afraid of every little thing, but to have Sam be his protector? That was just all kinds of wrong.

Even if it did feel kind of good.

Dean had to admit that Sam wasn’t his baby brother anymore. He’d always be Dean’s younger brother, but this incident had driven home to Dean that Sam had come into his own. Dean’d been terrified when Sam stood up to those morons at the diner, but even in the depths of his fear, he’d noticed that Sam had been very good at being physically imposing. Sam had always seemed almost sheepish about his height and his years at Stanford hadn’t seemed to change that any. Dean had never seen him use it before, but Sam hadn’t hesitated at the diner and been damn good with it too.

After the diner, they’d gone back to the motel. Sam claimed it was because the library wasn’t open yet, but Dean knew better. His brother was giving him a chance to recover after his scare at breakfast. Dean had protested, but not strongly. Sam was right and he knew it. After they got safely back into their room, Dean had flung himself on the bed and threw his arm over his eyes. For once, Sam took the hint and didn’t poke at him to get him to talk. 

Sunshine coming through the window woke him. Startled to realize that he’d fallen asleep, Dean sat up. A quick look at his watch confirmed what the position of the sun told him; it was still morning.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Dean demanded. 

Sam was seated at the desk again, behind his laptop, and just shrugged. “Figured you needed the sleep.”

Dean glared, but since he really hadn’t been asleep long, didn’t press the issue. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to be a coward a minute longer than I have to be.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam told him. He started powering down his laptop, though, so Dean didn’t complain about a delay. “Not just the being afraid, but being tired. The constant adrenaline going through your body because of the fear response is hard on your system, especially your heart.”

“My heart’s fine, Sammy,” Dean protested. “But my patience is wearing thin. I’m tired of being a wuss, so haul ass so we can figure this thing out.”

Sam’s lips thinned with displeasure, but his brother didn’t protest and just headed for the door. Dean followed, but stopped automatically before crossing the threshold. Outside just seemed so frigging big and who knew what could pop out from any direction? There were people in the parking lot and coming out of their rooms. Who knew how many of them were serial killers or would try to take Sam away from him?

“Hey,” it was Sam’s voice that cut through Dean’s inner dialog and grounded him. “It’s all right. Come on, I’m with you. We’re just going to walk to the car.”

With Sam’s arm securely across his shoulders, Dean made it to the Impala. Once inside, he felt a little better, but that only lasted until Sam started the car up. A small part of Dean’s brain remained rational and tried to tell him that Sam was driving carefully, but mostly Dean was just freaked about all the possibilities for accidents. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was Sam driving and that Dean trusted his brother without reservation, he didn’t think he’d be able to hold on to his sanity.

It was a little better at the library. The Arizona town they were in had a university that was fairly decent, but it was early and the place wasn’t too crowded. Sam found them a nice, quiet spot in the back that they used as a base. Dean shadowed his brother as he went to gather the books he’d looked up and then, like a lost little puppy, trailed after him back to the table they’d claimed as their own.

“We’re looking for anything on curses, right?” Dean asked as he slid one of the books over to him.

“Yeah.” Sam looked a little worried, but answered the question. “Particularly those involving death magic.”

Dean nodded and opened the book. Unfortunately, he opened it to a page with a picture on it of a woman slitting a goat’s throat. The image was a crude woodcut, but it was enough. Startled, Dean slammed the book shut again.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked.

Closing his eyes, Dean tried his damnedest to will his trembling to stop. “I’ve been studying this kind of stuff since before I could read, damn it.”

Sam gently pried the book from Dean’s clenched fingers. Everything Sam did was gentle lately and it was beginning to piss Dean off.

“And you’ll be studying it again,” Sam reassured him. “Once we figure out exactly what Leticia Barroso did to you.”

It was easier said than done. Sam spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, looking up references. Dean continued to follow his brother to and from the table, unwilling to be left alone. At first, he read over Sam’s shoulder, but kept getting frightened of the material. Eventually, Sam made a detour to the magazine section and picked out some reading material that he deemed safe. Dean knew he was being coddled, but by that time was bored out of his mind and didn’t get too offended.

“There’s nothing here,” Sam sighed as he closed the last book. “Their occult section isn’t half bad, but there’s nothing here to help us.”

“Damn,” Dean swore softly. Just once, he’d like something to happen the easy way.

“Don’t worry, we’re not giving up,” Sam told him. From the jut of his brother’s chin, Dean didn’t doubt him. When Sammy had his stubborn on, there wasn’t much that could sway him from his course.

“What do we do next?” Dean wondered out loud. They’d already research Lettie Barroso thoroughly before they went out to do a salt/burn on her spirit. There were no witnesses left to interview or local leads to track down.

Sam looked hesitant. “I know you don’t want to call Dad, but what about Bobby or Pastor Jim? They may have resources that would help.”

Dean started to answer, but was distracted by someone approaching with a reshelving cart. The young man pushing it was young and was probably a student, if the brightly colored hair and piercings were any clue. The sense of alarm that was already becoming all too familiar descended at the proximity of someone other than Sam and Dean slid down in his chair. 

“Can I put those away for you?” The stranger asked, his offer of assistance at odds with his completely bored tone. Dean flinched and kept himself from cowering by the slimmest of margins.

Sam scowled at the kid. Normally, he was scrupulous about putting away his own research materials, but not this time.

“Yeah,” Sam loaded the other man’s arms up with books, piling them so high that the young man’s purple bangs could barely be seen. “And take these too. Thanks.”

The college kid glared at them, but took a look at Sam’s height and didn’t say a word. His expression was sullen until he started stacking the books on the cart and then his eyebrows went up.

“Man, you guys into that weird shit, aren’t you?” The kid asked. His expression no longer looked bored, but was alight with curiosity.

“We’re just doing some research for a paper,” Sam obfuscated with a charm that was normally Dean’s. “You know how that is, man.”

“Well, you gotta be careful,” the library kid cautioned them. “Just stay away from anything about old Lettie.”

The brother’s exchanged a startled glance.

“Lettie Barroso?” Sam carefully asked.

The boy nodded, the rings in his nose and lip bouncing with the movement. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s like some local legend or something; she was supposed to be a witch. A prof from the big U over at Tucson came here to study her. One day he was workin’ on a book about local folklore, the next day he’s dead.”

Dean longed to ask for more details, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Sam, however, didn’t have that problem.

“Dead?” Sam prompted. “How?”

The kid shrugged. “Just found him dead in his hotel room. It was ruled natural causes, but everybody says that the mortician had a hell of a time getting the look of horror off his face.”

Sam nodded. “And when did this happen?”

“Couple years back,” the kid shrugged. “About the same time as that shit for brains, Britney Spears, had her first kid.”

The brothers exchanged a significant look. They’d researched Leticia Barroso before they’d gone to salt and burn her remains. What they’d turned up had indicated she’d died shortly after the time frame the college student was giving and, from the looks of it, something she’d summoned had gotten out of her control. It could easily be linked to the professor’s death.

“Thanks, man, we appreciate the information,” Sam told the helpful stranger.

“Sure thing, dude, just be careful,” the kid said as he strained to push his laden cart away. “Lettie’s the boogie man the local mothers tell their kids about to get them to behave. She’s bad juju, that’s for sure, even if she’s dead.”

Only when the college student was out of sight could Dean bring himself to speak. “Sounds like the best lead we’ve had all day.”

"Yeah, it does.” Sam looked hopeful. “Let’s get our gear and head out.”

It didn’t take them long to get back to the motel and check out. Dean once again found that he couldn’t wander more than a step or two from Sam. Away from his brother’s comforting presence, the dangers of the world around him just seemed too many to cope with. He resolved not to call Sam “Sasquatch” for at least week after things got back to normal.

They’d just gotten everything into the Impala and Sam was about to start the car when Dean’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten much for breakfast and it was starting to catch up with him. 

Mouth dry, Dean made a suggestion. “Do you want to go back to the diner?” 

It was the last thing in the world that Dean wanted, but food was necessary. Dean knew that he could go without for longer than a few hours, but Sam probably needed to fuel that ridiculously huge body of his. 

Sam grinned at him. “I’ve got an idea.”

That was a pretty dangerous statement, coming from a Winchester, but Sam’s idea turned out to be a pretty good one. He took them to a fast food drive-through and the experience was surprisingly non-traumatic for Dean. Sam sat between Dean and the person who handed them their food, so that wasn’t a problem and, once they had their lunch, Sam pulled into the empty part of a shopping mall’s parking lot. The brothers could eat in relative privacy, with clear sight lines on anyone trying to sneak up on them.

“Sammy, you’re a genius,” Dean complimented his brother as he swallowed his last bite of burger. Since he’d had so little at breakfast, Sam had ordered twice as much for Dean as he had for himself. He’d been sitting watching Dean eat for the last couple of minutes, having finished his already.

“About that,” Sam seemed nervous, even rubbing his palms against his thighs. “I have another idea, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one.”

The food turned to lead in Dean’s stomach, but he managed to look at his brother evenly. “What?”

“You know how frightened you are when the car’s on the road?” Sam stumbled a little over the F-word, but got it out without too much trouble.

Dean looked away. “Yeah.”

“Flagstaff’s over four hours away from Tucson,” Sam pointed out. “You’ll be a mess by the time we get there.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean snapped. He was well aware that he was a quivering coward; he didn’t need his little brother to point it out to him. “Don’t see as we have a choice, Sammy, short of locking me in the trunk where at least you don’t have to watch me snivel.”

“Yeah, we do,” Sam lifted his ass from the seat enough to dig something out of his pocket. Looking Dean straight in the eye, Sam offered his brother two pills. “You take these.”

Dean looked at the medication like it was a snake that would bite him. “Let’s get this straight, Sam. You’re advocating getting me high?”

“It’s a sedative,” Sam was defensive when he responded. “You know we keep them on hand for painkillers or when a witness needs to be subdued.” Dean felt his jaw clench at being compared to a victim and Sam’s tone gentled in response. “Come on, Dean. Driving across state is going to be torture for you right now and you know it. There’s no reason for you to suffer like that when we have something that will help.”

His brother’s reasoning was sound, but didn’t cover all of Dean’s objections. “Yeah, but Sammy, that stuff’ll knock me on my ass.”

Sam’s chuckle was soft and low. “That’s kind of the idea, Dean.”

Dean looked away. “But if something happens, I won’t be of much use to you.”

Unspoken was his fear of being helpless. Vulnerable. He should have known that Sam would sense that anyway.

“Hey, I’ll be right there,” Sam assured him. “If something comes up, I’ll poke you awake, I promise.”

Sam’s expression was earnest and he met Dean’s gaze squarely when Dean looked him in the eye. Slowly, with reluctance in every move, Dean took the pills and washed them down with the last few gulps from his soda. 

Nodding in satisfaction, Sam started the car and carefully pulled out of the parking lot. At first Dean was tense and startled at every sudden movement, but a honeyed lassitude crept over him as the miles ticked by. He didn’t fight the drug’s influence, just let it lull him into a false calm. As his eyelids became too heavy to lift, Dean shifted in his seat until he was sitting facing Sam.

He had his brother and the road. With the fear at bay for the moment, Dean was content and let himself drift off to sleep.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

The drive to Tucson was uneventful. After a couple of hours, Sam regretted getting a large soda at lunch, but one look at Dean’s sleeping face and he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Sam hated to wake him for a bathroom break, but neither would he even consider breaking Dean’s trust by leaving him in the car while he made a pit stop. Sam didn’t care if his bladder burst; it wasn’t worth it.

Upon their arrival, Sam lost no time in finding them a motel near the campus and then ordering in pizza. Dean was still out it enough from the sedative that he didn’t freak too badly when it arrived. His brother had had the first prolonged calm he’d experienced since Lettie’s curse. Sam was tempted to continue to keep him sedated, but ultimately decided against it. It wouldn’t do any good to break Dean’s curse only to have him addicted to drugs.

Dean was still groggy after they ate, so Sam just helped him change clothes and then bundled his brother into bed. Sam wasn’t sure what bothered him the most, the glazed look in his brother's eyes or the way Dean didn’t gripe about being manhandled. In short order, Dean was curled up on the far edge of the bed, facing Sam. 

“I’ve got some research to do,” Sam told him. “But I’ll be right here.”

“Dude,” Dean blinked up at him. “I’m not blind.”

He was, however, half asleep and Sam let the sarcasm wash over him, knowing it for a simple coping mechanism. By the time Sam powered his laptop up, Dean was out like a candle. Sam’s smile was soft as he watched, but the expression bled away as he remembered Lettie’s taunts, implying that Sam would be happy to see his brother lessened. Nothing could be further than the truth and Sam bent to his task with renewed determination.

The professor they’d been told about was a man by the name of Archibald Abernathy and, after reading one of his articles that had been posted on a website, Sam already believed the man had been as snobby as his name sounded. They needed to get hold of his unpublished research; Abernathy had encountered Lettie too close to his death for information on her to be anywhere else. To do that, they’d need to talk to his department head, something they couldn’t do until the next day.

Sighing, Sam turned the laptop off and stretched. He’d done as much background research as he could do and it was time to join Dean on the bed. Sam stripped off his clothes as quietly as possible and slipped under the covers. Dean sighed and moved closer, all without waking, just as he’d done the night before. And just like the night before, Sam enjoyed his brother’s warmth.

The morning was almost surreal in its new normality. They took turns in the shower, with Dean never wandering more than a few feet from Sam and the safety zone he offered. Wisely, Sam didn’t comment. The brothers didn’t speak much at all, other than the typical grunts needed to finish their morning routine. It was only after they went through a fast food drive-through and had breakfast did Dean broach their business in Tucson.

“So, what’s next?” Dean asked as he wadded up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the backseat.

Sam smiled ruefully, thankful that it hadn’t occurred to Dean yet to be afraid of food poisoning. “We have to go talk to the head of the anthropology department.”

Dean swallowed heavily. “Sam, I don’t know, I’m not exactly up to running any sort of con right now.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” Sam assured him.

“A statement like that? Coming from you?” Dean snorted. “That would scare me even before I was a coward.”

Sam ignored the comment and started the car up.

“You gonna let me know what the plan is?” Dean asked.

“Nope,” Sam replied. “It’ll work better if you don’t know.”

“Oh, that makes me feel ever so much better,” Dean snorted.

The conversation was ended when Sam pulled into traffic, Dean not able to deal with other cars and arguing with his brother at the same time. Sam bit his lip and just drove as quickly and carefully as he could to the university, knowing it was their best bet for ending Dean’s fear as soon as possible.

By the time they reached their destination, Dean was panting, eyes wide and unfocused. Sam wasn’t surprised. In fact, had counted on it. 

“Come on,” he said gently as he came around to the passenger’s side of the Impala. “This won’t take long.”

Sam was right. With the combination of his patented sincere expression and Dean’s genuine distress, a sympathetic assistant soon had them set up with the head of the cultural anthropology department.

“So, how do you think I can help you, Mr. Goodwin?” Dr. Pine didn’t appear quite as kindhearted as her assistant and was clearly too busy to spend much time with them.

“My brother and I are pursuing the research of one of your professors, Dr. Archibald Abernathy,” Sam began. “We’re particularly interested in his work debunking popular myth and folk beliefs.”

“I’m assuming you’ve done your research and realize that Dr. Abernathy is, unfortunately, deceased,” she interrupted him.

“Yes, ma’am, we do and that’s why we’re here,” Sam assured her. “His published works were quite helpful, but what we really need is access to his background research.”

Dr. Pine arched one elegant eyebrow at him. “Indeed.”

“My brother believes he’s been cursed,” Sam told her making a show of being reluctant to speak about it. “His psychiatrist said that it would help him to learn as much as he could about these supposed curses, to help prove to him that they aren’t real. Dr. Abernathy’s work was the best I could find, but his published material didn’t quite go far enough.”

The second eyebrow arched up to join the first. Sam watched as Dr. Pine turned her head to look at Dean. His older brother was currently huddled in his chair, face tilted down and panting lightly. For a moment, Sam tried to look at the university professor and see her as Dean did, but all he saw was a petite older woman with her hair in a severe bun. There were African tribal masks mounted on the wall behind her; perhaps they were freaking Dean out, because Sam couldn’t see anything about Dr. Pine that would. Maybe for her students, but not someone like Dean.

Sam could see the moment when Dr. Pine decided they were for real; no one was a good enough actor to feign the kind of distress Dean was currently in. Her expression softened.

“Dr. Abernathy’s notes and other unfinished work were, of course, provided to his family,” she told them. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that they were shipped to Cardiff months ago.” 

Sam’s face fell; Cardiff was in Wales. He’d go to the ends of the earth to help Dean, if necessary, but had hoped that assistance would be a little closer to home and faster to access. Besides, given how frightened Dean had been of flying before he’d been cursed, there was no way in hell that Sam could get him onto a plane.

“However, his private collection of research materials was generously donated to the university’s library,” she went on to say. “Dr. Abernathy was in the habit of having his notes transcribed and they’re part of the collection. I believe they might be of assistance with your. . . problem.”

“That sounds perfect,” Sam replied, grateful but his own pride as a researcher was a little dented. “I’m sorry to have troubled you; I checked the library’s online collection and didn’t see anything like that listed.”

Dr. Pine smiled ruefully as she started thumbing through her Rolodex. “I doubt they’ve made it into the electronic card catalogue yet. The head of our library system is constantly complaining about the lack of funds for adequate cataloging. Perhaps his comments aren’t entirely unfounded.”

While Sam sputtered his thanks, she wrote out some call numbers on a scrap of paper. “I believe you’ll find them in this section,” she handed it to Sam. “Archie would be pleased to know that his work was helping someone. Everyone always brushed it off as sensationalism instead of real research; it’s too bad something like this didn’t come up while he was alive.”

“Thank you so much,” Sam told her as he encouraged Dean to his feet. He kept the irony from his voice; he wasn’t glad that ‘something like this’ had happened at all. “We’ll put his work to good use, I promise you.”

Sam ushered Dean out of the building, breathing a deep sigh of relief as he headed them towards the library. There for a few minutes, he’d been worried that their drive across the state had been for nothing. Even as matters stood, it was possible that Abernathy’s materials were useless. Hopefully, however, there would be something that would indicate what kind of witch Leticia Barroso had been and could help Sam figure out how to break the curse.

He’d gotten so used to Dean going silent when they were outside that Sam was surprised to find that his brother was chuckling. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” Dean responded, not shrugging off Sam’s arm across his shoulder. “That was a pretty good story you came up with, Sammy.”

Relieved that Dean hadn’t been offended at the tale he’d spun for the professor, Sam shrugged. “You always said that the best lie is couched in the truth.”

“Well, I didn’t use a lame-ass word liked ‘couched,’ but that’s pretty much it,” Dean answered. “You usually suck at lying too. I’m proud of you. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’m proud of you.”

Sam knew what had gotten into him. Responsibility. Always before, he’d had his older brother to lean on, but with Dean incapacitated by Lettie’s curse, Sam was having to step up to the plate. He didn’t mind; Sam found that he kind of liked being in charge.

His thoughts came to a halt when Dean abruptly stopped. Sam kept moving for a step or two before realizing that he was dragging his brother. Stopping, he looked down at Dean. “What’s wrong?”

Dean was shaking. “There.”

Sam looked around, but the campus was relatively empty. In fact, the path they were on was clear except for them and a squirrel. “What? The squirrel?”

“It’s a rat with a hair extension,” Dean started backing away from the animal. “They carry diseases, you know, Sam. Look at its evil little rodent face; it’s going to jump on us and bite us.”

“It’s not going to bite us, Dean, I promise,” Sam assured his brother. “Here, look at this.” 

Sam pried Dean’s hand off his arm and lunged at the squirrel. It wriggled its shiny black nose at him and then bounded from the path, obviously thinking this tall human was crazy. Turning back to Dean, Sam gestured his brother forward. “Come on, it’s safe.”

“My hero,” Dean muttered under his breath, but he let Sam guide him towards the library and inside.

If there was one thing the Winchester brothers knew, it was libraries. It didn’t take long for Sam to determine that the area they needed was on the fifth floor of the building. That, however, caused a problem.

“No way,” Dean balked at entering the elevator. 

“Dean, I know it’s small, but it’s perfectly all right.” Sam held on to his patience with every fiber of his being.

“You want me to get into a mobile room held up only by ancient cable and a prayer?” Dean accused him. “Are you insane? That’s a glorified coffin.”

“It’s a modern elevator,” Sam pointed out. “They have these things inspected regularly.”

Dean just shook his head. “No.”

“Fine,” Sam gave up. They were both in good shape; walking up five flights of stairs wasn’t worth upsetting his brother.

He realized his mistake on the third floor, when he realized that Dean hadn’t made it passed the latest landing. Backtracking, Sam trotted down the few stairs he’d gotten ahead and came back to Dean. 

“It’s so high up,” Dean commented before Sam could ask him if he was okay. He was a bit wild-eyed as he eyed the railing.

Sam put a hand under Dean’s elbow and drew him up further. “Just close your eyes, I won’t let you fall.” 

Dean, trusting his brother utterly, did as Sam suggested and they made their way to the fifth floor without further incident.

The area they needed was deep in the stacks, but luckily there were study carrels positioned all around. Sam knew better than to try and leave Dean at one while he found the exact section he needed. Instead, he worked on locating the area that Dr. Pine had indicated. When he started scanning the titles of what he found there, Sam whistled long and low.

“Wow,” he told Dean, impressed in spite of himself. “Dr. Abernathy had quite the collection. We’re going to have to let Dad and Pastor Jim know about this; it’s a treasure trove.”

“But after you cure me,” Dean reminded him. “I don’t want Dad to know about the curse.”

“After I cure you,” Sam agreed, although he was beginning to wonder how he was going to manage that.

Pulling the most promising books off the shelf, Sam found a nearby study carrel and got them situated. Unlike the last library, this one had wireless, so Dean could play around on the internet while Sam worked. Occasionally, they heard a student moving around, but for the most part they were alone. Sam settled in to do some serious research.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice interrupted him some time later.

“Dean, listen to this,” Sam said. “From what I’m reading, this Dr. Abernathy came face to face with an actual black dog and wrote it off as a hybrid dog/wolf mix. This guy might have been good at collecting books, but as a researcher, he couldn’t see what was in front of him.”

“That’s nice, Sam.” 

Dean’s voice sounded strained and Sam looked at him in concern. “What’s the matter?”

Looking thoroughly embarrassed, Dean jerked his chin at a nearby window. “The light’s starting to go.”

Sam looked at the window and, sure enough, could tell from the quality of the light that it was early evening. He’d been reading for hours, right through lunch, in fact.

“Right, we need to get moving,” Sam said in a matter of fact tone. In his current condition, Dean was terrified of the dark. They had to get off campus and back to the motel before the sun set or he’d seriously freak. If they were lucky, they could grab dinner on the way. Otherwise, it would be more pizza.

Spending the evening in the motel felt totally normal, even though the night hours were usually their busiest time for dealing with supernatural creatures. Dean was too frightened of guns to take care of his weapons, so television was their only distraction. Sam found that it was safer to keep to sitcoms, since both of them had no patience for weepy dramas and even the mildest of crime shows was too much for Dean to handle. For one blessed hour, they came across a reality show that was a modeling competition and, for sixty minutes, Dean was practically his old self.

“Wow, look at the rack on that chick,” Dean marveled as they watched the photo shoot portion of the show. “That’s right, honey, aim those babies at the camera.”

And, despite his uber-macho running commentary throughout the show, during which Sam found himself apologizing mentally to the girls onscreen, Dean cuddled into Sam’s arms while he slept. Sam tried not to enjoy that too much, but in that regard, failed miserably.

It was strange, how life could settle into a pattern, even when it was totally fucked up. With only Sam able to do the research, since even Dr. Abernathy’s work on debunking supernatural myths frightened Dean, and having their time limited to daylight hours, the second research day passed as quickly as the first. By the third day, Dean was becoming comfortable enough in the library that Sam could leave him for the short time it took to walk back to the stacks and switch out one book for another.

Oddly enough, it was Sam who started becoming reluctant to do so.

“I’m okay, Sam,” Dean assured him. “We’ve been here a couple of days and no one’s bothered us. I think I can handle it for the thirty seconds or so it takes you to go get the next book.”

“I don’t know,” Sam waffled. He’d felt like someone was watching them, the last couple of hours, but he didn’t want to tell Dean that.

“Besides,” Dean licked his lips as his eyes darted over to the deeper section of the stacks. “I don’t like it back there. It’s kind of. . . dark.”

Dr. Abernathy’s collection did extend into the bowels of the stacks and they were indeed gloomy. Sam wondered what had been moved out to make room for the deceased professor’s collection. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been well used, since the area was rather cobwebby too. 

Gloomy and full of spider webs; no wonder Dean didn’t like it.

“All right,” Sam relented. “I’ll only be gone a minute.”

“Go,” Dean waved him off and went back to his online game. “I’ve almost got this soduku bitch figured out.”

Sam wasn’t fooled for a minute. Dean was on pins and needles the whole time Sam was gone. He knew because as he stepped out of the shelving on previous solo trips, Dean was always watching for him, ducking his head when he realized that Sam could tell. Sam knew that Dean was trying to force himself passed his fear and, even though the attempts clearly weren’t successful, Sam didn’t want to draw attention to his brother’s failure. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sam repeated as he headed back to the stacks for the next book.

When he’d realized the extent of Abernathy’s collection, Sam’s first inclination had been to go through it as quickly as he could, eager to find a cure for Dean’s problem. As he skimmed the materials, though, he realized that the man had been the stereotype of disorganized professor. The books had been cataloged in a way that kept the collection intact, but other than that, it was a mess. As a result, Sam had been forced to go through them one by one, not sure which resource would have the answer he so desperately needed. After a couple of days, he was nearly to the end of the collection and still hadn’t found the help he needed. 

Sam put back the book he’d just finished skimming and picked up the next one. It looked to be freshly bound and didn’t have a title printed on it. Excited at remembering what Dr. Pine had said about Abernathy’s notes being transcribed, Sam opened the book and started perusing it right away. It didn’t take long before Sam found a reference to local witchcraft and the citation about it led to the last book in the collection. Sam immediately grabbed it and started looking through it then and there. 

He grinned; these references were the most promising yet. Sam eagerly headed back to Dean, steps lighter than they had been in days. Sam’s spirits soared; maybe he’d be able to cure Dean after all.

Those high spirits crashed as he returned to the study carrel, only to find it empty.

“Dean?” Sam called, not sure he could trust what he was seeing. There was no way, in his current condition, that Dean would wander away. Not of his own free will. “Dean?”

Sam’s stomach rolled. Dean had looked after him for years and never lost him; Sam had been responsible for his brother for a matter of days and couldn’t manage to say the same.

With his long legs and a growing sense of urgency, it didn’t take long for Sam to cover the immediate area. He even checked the nearby bathroom, even though Dean had barely been willing to go into it, even with Sam with him. Nothing. Unfortunately, the relative emptiness of the part of the library they were in worked against his search. There was simply no one to ask.

“Think, Sam.” He stopped and muttered to himself as he ran his hand through his hair. “Stop running around like a chicken with your head cut off and just think.”

Under normal circumstances, he could assume that Dean had left to pursue a lead or been distracted by a pretty girl. Since circumstances were far from normal, though, Sam could only say for sure that Dean hadn’t left willingly. There hadn’t been the least indication that the library was haunted, so supernatural phenomenon couldn’t be the cause. That was almost worse; humans could perpetrate more evil than spirits, any day.

Dean wasn’t his normal self, but he was still a tall, athletic man. Whomever had taken him from the study carrel would either have to get Dean out of the building without attracting attention. . . or could find a lonely corner library to do whatever it was that Dean had been taken for. Given how devoid of people their nook was, Sam was betting that Dean was still in the library.

That still left a hell of a lot of ground to cover.

Grim, Sam entered the stacks. He didn’t bother yelling anymore, figuring that Dean probably wouldn’t be in a position to answer and there was no sense warning whoever had taken Dean that someone was looking for him. Every once in a while, he’d stop and listen. It reminded him of a game of Marco Polo, except that there was no calling back and forth.

Calling.

“Damn it,” Sam muttered. “You are such an idiot.”

Dean had been missing from the study carrel, but so was his phone and it was likely still with him. Sam fumbled in his pocket for his own and punched the number that got used the most. Head cocked to the side, Sam listened with every fiber of his being. There, faint and in the distance, he heard a familiar ring tone.

Sam wasted no time in loping off in the direction of Dean’s phone; he knew he couldn’t count on it ringing long. Unfortunately, he was right. It only rang a few times, but that was enough for Sam to pinpoint the sound as coming from the stack level above him, on the west side of the building. Moving quickly, but as quietly as he could, Sam narrowed in on his subject. It was harder when the phone stopped ringing, but by that time, Sam had the direction fixed in his mind. Mentally, he encouraged his brother to just hang on; help was on the way.

He found them in a dark corner that was even more secluded than the area that they’d been using. Dean was pushed against the wall and there was just enough light to see the expression of despairing fear on his face. Pressed up against him was a man about Sam’s height. The stranger was using his extra inches to loom over Dean and had a knee thrust between his legs. His face was in profile, but Sam could see the man’s lips move as he whispered into Dean’s ear.

Sam had inherited more than his father’s dark hair; he had John’s temper in spades. Seeing his brother so vulnerable and unable to protect himself from a human predator, however, sent Sam beyond temper and into an icy rage. A small part of Sam knew that this cold part of himself was capable of doing terrible things; knew and rejoiced. Lethally silent, he approached from behind.

“I knew if I waited long enough, that overgrown puppy would leave you alone,” the man whispered hoarsely and he ground against Dean. “Pretty thing like you needs a real man to show you how things are done. . . .”

Sam grabbed the stranger from behind, wrapping one large hand around his chin and dragging him forcibly off his brother. “Guess what, asshole? Puppy is back and pissed as hell.”

The stranger was as big as Sam, but older and not trained in combat. Sam moved so quickly that he had the other man off Dean and pinned against the wall in short order. As soon as the pressure was off him, Dean made a soft cry and slid to the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The stranger demanded. It was difficult for him to talk, with Sam’s forearm shoved up against his throat, but he managed to sound outraged.

“Getting you the hell off my brother,” Sam gritted out between clenched teeth. 

The man laughed. “I’m an adult; he’s adult. There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults hooking up.”

Sam turned and looked at Dean. His brother was a huddled ball on the floor and was rocking back and forth silently.

“Oh, yeah, he’s consenting all right,” Sam said sarcastically. Without another word, he brought his knee up sharply. It hit the stranger’s groin with an audible snap and the man cried out in pain.

With a great deal of satisfaction, Sam watched as the stranger slid to the floor, much as Dean had done a few moments earlier. The comparison reminded Sam of his brother’s distress and he turned to Dean.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Sam called out soft as he approached Dean. He held his hands out to his side, trying to show his brother that he was harmless. “It’s okay now, Dean. I’m here.”

“S-s-s-sam?” Dean lifted his head and Sam winced at how lost his brother looked. “I t-t-t-told him n-no, t-t-that I sh-shouldnnnn’t l-l-leave.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam assured him. He put one hand on Dean’s shoulder and wasn’t surprised to feel the tremors that wracked the other man’s body. “He’d been watching you, Dean, he knew you were vulnerable. It’s not your fault.”

Dean shook his head and Sam saw that he was crying. “Y-y-y-y-y-es, it-it is. ‘Mmm a p-p-p-pu-pussy.”

That had to be one of the most ludicrous statements that Sam had ever heard. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

His brother looked ready to argue with him, but then Dean’s face changed. He struggled to say something, but the words got garbled. Sam understood anyway and whirled. The stranger was trying to sneak up on him, a large tome in his hand and raised as though to hit Sam over the head with it.

It was almost a relief to have a reason to go after the guy again. Sam grunted in satisfaction and launched himself. He landed three blows before they even registered with the stranger and finished him off with a roundhouse kick.

“You pervert,” Sam bent and grabbed the guy by the collar. “You come near my brother again and I’ll kill you.” Without any remorse, he banged the stranger’s head against the floor, knocking him out cold and then knelt over him.

“S-s-s-sammy?”

Sam turned and looked at his brother. Dean was pale and looked shocky, but was trying to leverage himself up off the floor. Making a quick decision, Sam swung back to the would-be molester.

“You’re just lucky that he needs me more right now than I need to pound you into the floor,” Sam muttered to the unconscious man. 

Sam dropped the creep unceremoniously to the floor and started to rise. At the last minute, though, he knelt back down and dug through the stranger’s pockets until he found his wallet and cell phone. Perverts didn’t spring fully formed from the ground, capable of taking advantage of someone as obviously vulnerable as Dean was. Nor did they disappear all on their own. The stranger would have to be taken care of, to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else. At the moment, Sam’s number one priority was Dean, but an idea began to take shape in his mind.

Threat taken care of, Sam turned back to his brother. Dean was still struggling to his feet, his legs obviously not cooperating. Sam reached out and got his hands under Dean’s elbows, helping the other man to stand. He didn’t stop there. Although Dean’s cuddling tendencies typically only came out when he was sleeping, Sam pulled his brother into his arms and wrapped him in a big hug. Dean, surprisingly, didn’t fight him. Still shaking, he pressed forward into Sam’s arms.

“I’ve got you,” Sam murmured softly. “It’s all right now.”

After a few minutes, he felt Dean’s trembling ease and Sam pulled back. Dean wouldn’t look at him and Sam ached for the shame he saw in that reluctance.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he put an arm around Dean’s shoulder and started guiding him back to their study carrel.

“Wh-what ab-b-b-out him?” Dean jerked his head at the stranger, still lying unconscious on the floor.

“He’s going to be a little too sore for a while to even want to look at anybody, let alone touch where he shouldn’t,” Sam assured Dean. “And I’ve got an idea of how to put a stop to that. First, though, we need to get you back to the motel.”

The further they got away from the molester, the easier Dean seemed to feel. They got back to the study carrel without further incident. The library really was deserted, because no one had stolen Sam’s laptop while he’d left it unattended. Sam sat Dean down in the chair. They’d snuck bottles of soda into the library and there was still a little left in Sam’s. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills. Dean was out of it enough that Sam got him to swallow two without any protest. While Dean sat and slowly calmed down, Sam started packing everything up. The two books he’d found were still laying on the desk and he stowed them away in his bag.

“S-stealing books, S-sammy?”

Sam was grateful to hear that Dean’s voice was a little steadier and he managed to smile as he replied. “Yup. I figure we need them more than anybody here.”

Once he had everything ready to go, Sam turned back to Dean. His brother was still pale and shaky. There was no way they’d get out of the library unnoticed, not with Dean looking so traumatized. Sam didn’t really care, except for the unconscious man they’d left in the stacks. He didn’t want anything unusual about them to be remembered.

“Here,” Sam stripped his canvas coat off and removed the hoodie he’d been wearing underneath it. “Put this on.”

“W-why?”

“Because you’re still shaking,” Sam told him as he helped Dean into it. “And we can use it to hide your face.” Putting action to words, Sam drew the hood up, pulling it down until the fabric covered most of Dean’s face.

They’d been using the stairs all the previous days, but Sam was partially supporting Dean, who seemed to have legs made of jelly. There was no way he was getting his brother down several flights of stairs. Sam stopped in front of the elevator and punched the button. Dean was aware of enough of what was going on that he pulled back as the door immediately opened, but Sam managed to drag him in anyway.

“S-sammy.”

“It’ll just take a minute, Dean,” Sam told him. “Do you really think you can walk down all those steps right now?”

Dean looked at him from underneath the hood and then dropped his head. “S-suckss.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied. Not caring that elevator could stop on another floor and let someone else on, he pulled Dean in for a rough hug, holding on all the way down. Dean stood quietly for it, but all but bolted for the door as soon as it opened.

They made it to the Impala and Sam bundled Dean into the car. The pills were already taking effect, so the drive was less distressing for his brother that it normally would have been. Sam felt bad about drugging Dean, but he’d been worried about how upset the older man had been. The body could only take so much stress and the near-molestation had pushed Dean to the limit.

By the time they made it to the motel, Dean was drowsing in his seat. Sam helped him inside and sat him down on the bed. Sam knelt to assist Dean in taking his shoes off, intending that Dean get some sleep, even though it was early. Sam figured that he’d order a pizza in a couple of hours and wake Dean up long enough to eat. 

“I don’t wanna live like this, Sammy,” Dean said quietly as Sam assisted him under the covers. The sedative was making him too uncoordinated to manage on his own.

“Won’t be much longer, Dean,” Sam assured him, but his brother was already asleep.

Sam sat and watched Dean sleep for a few minutes. Dean was right about one thing; they couldn’t continue like this. They’d been lucky this time, but what about the next time? Dean was too vulnerable to take care of himself and Sam had just proven himself inept at looking out for his incapacitated brother. And what if they came up against something supernatural? Dean wouldn’t be able to protect himself. 

There was no choice; Sam was going to have to find a safe place for Dean to stay while Sam continued to look for a cure. Sam winced when he thought of all the reassurances he’d given Dean that he’d be at his side until they found a way to fix the older man. It looked like Sam was going to have to break that promise.

He could only hope that Dean would understand

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

The irony was that Dean liked his men big. He didn’t hook up with guys often, but when he did, they were almost always tall. Dean would lose himself in the sex and try not to think about how his brother was tall too. Had Dean met the guy in the library under different circumstances, he might have gone with him willingly.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” the stranger had said as he’d slid out from between two shelving units. “Your watch dog finally left you alone.”

Dean had scrambled away from the man and tried to call for his brother, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. “S-s-s-am.”

“Is that his name, Sam?” The unfamiliar man had purred. He’d approached Dean and wrapped an arm around his waist, hefting him from his seat. Dean had tried to struggle, but the stranger’s grip had tightened. “None of that now. We’re going to go someplace nice and quiet and I’m going to show you all sorts of things that I bet that Sam never even imagined.”

He was both bigger and older than Dean and used those traits to overwhelm him. There was a time when Dean would have been able to clean the stranger’s clock with one arm tied behind his back. As it was, he’d been unable to prevent himself from being led away. Despite his years of hunter training, he froze and all Dean could manage was look over his shoulder and hope that Sam came back before the man got him out of sight.

Helpless.

Dean didn’t like that feeling and it was becoming all too familiar. How could he be a badass ghost hunter if he all but pissed his pants every time someone said ‘boo’ to him? Worse yet, how was he supposed to take care of Sam if he couldn’t even take care of himself?

Thinking of Sam, Dean remembered how Sammy had come to the rescue. A part of him was proud of his brother, for taking the creep down so quickly. A part of him, though, had been scared for Sam. The look on his brother’s face was one Dean didn’t want to see there again. He’d always thought of himself and their dad as the ruthless ones, but Sam could have killed that guy, it was written in his face. They’d been lucky that Sam had managed to control himself and just beat the pervert senseless.

Dean stretched tentatively, but was alone in the bed. He frowned, trying to think about how he’d gotten there. He remembered leaving the library and then starting to drive back to the motel. Things after that got a little fuzzy and Dean belatedly remembered Sam getting him to take two pills. Great, his little brother had found it necessary to sedate him again. Sighing, Dean opened his eyes.

Sure enough, they were in the motel room. The rumble in his belly told Dean that time had passed and, guessing by the light coming through the drapes, he figured it was morning. The bed was rumpled, but the far side of it was empty. Dean lifted his head. Sam was at the table, his ever-present laptop out and running. 

“You get any sleep?” Dean asked as he sat up.

Sam looked up from his computer screen and smiled. Dean immediately was on edge. That was not his brother’s typical smile; it was the one he used when he had to break bad news or make an attempt to lie.

“Yeah, I slept fine,” Sam replied readily enough. “Been getting the lowdown on our little friend from the library.”

Dean blushed again as he remembered how easy it had been for the jerk to get the better of him. At least now he knew why Sam had taken the guy’s wallet. “And?”

“Can you believe he’s a professor at the university? A doctor, even. Timothy Walden, from the physics department” Sam told him, disgust in both his face and tone. “The bastard’s probably been using his position of authority to hit on students, kids too inexperienced to know that they can tell him no.” He picked up the cell phone he’d taken off of Dean’s would-be molester. “You wouldn’t believe the pictures I found on his cell phone. It seems he likes to stalk his prey.”

Including Dean.

Sam must have realized the reaction his words had caused, because he hastened to reassure. “I erased the pictures of you. He’d been watching us all yesterday afternoon. I’m sorry, Dean, I should have realized.”

“Not your fault,” Dean shook his head and pulled the blankets up to cover his sudden shivering. “You can’t help it that I’m suddenly Sweet Polly Purebred and need a big, strapping man to look after me.”

“That’s not your fault, either,” Sam retorted. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dean ran a hand through his rumpled hair. They’d had this particular conversation before, but it didn’t change the fact that Dean was a coward. “So now that you know who this bastard is, what are you going to do about it?”

Sam sighed. “I thought about sending his camera phone to campus security and alerting them to the fact that the esteemed Dr. Walden is a sexual predator, but it wouldn’t work.”

Dean frowned. “Why not?”

“Because the minute the phone left his possession, it gave him an out,” Sam explained and Dean was reminded of the fact that his brother had intended to be a lawyer. “All he’d have to do is claim it was stolen and that someone else took all those photos. There’s nothing to actually prove that it was him.”

Seeing the logic in that, Dean nodded. It sucked, but it made sense. “So, he just goes free? It’s not like I can press charges, Sam.”

Sam looked positively smug. “The campus police are out, but I know of someone else I can send the phone and wallet to; Dr. Pine.”

“The old lady?” Dean asked in disbelief. “What can she do?”

“Oh, she can’t bring charges or anything,” Sam told him. “But Dr. Pine struck me as the type of professor who cares about her students and about how things are run at her school. She may not have legal authority, but I bet she’ll make taking Dr. Walden down her personal mission. I’ve seen her type before.”

Dean nodded. He knew what he had to say next and steeled himself, forcing the words out passed the fear that clogged his throat. “I suppose we’ll have to g-go b-b-ack to the lib-b-brary.”

Damn that stutter.

Sam’s face gentled. “No, we’re not going back there, Dean.”

“We h-have t-t-o,” Dean forced himself to work through the stutter that arose when the fear was at its worst. “We-we-we’ve g-gotta f-f-f-fix me.”

Shaking his head, Sam disagreed. “I grabbed the only two books that might be of any use and even that’s iffy. I went through them last night and there was some background information on the type of witch that Lettie Barroso was, but no specifics on spells.”

“So, d-do your research m-m-m-mojo and figure out who does know,” Dean demanded, frustration winning out over fear. “W-we’ll go there.”

Sam got up from the table and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “No, we won’t, Dean.”

“Sam?”

“I’ll go,” Sam told him. “But if there’s one thing we learned yesterday, it’s that I’m no good at keeping you safe. Besides, being afraid all the time like this, it can’t be good for your health. What we need is a secure place for you to stay while I figure this out.”

Dean felt as though the floor had dropped out from underneath him. The single thing that had been making this mess bearable was his brother’s presence and now Sam was telling him that he was going to dump him somewhere?

“No, Sam,” Dean pleaded. “Please.”

Sam’s face got its stubborn look. “Being on the road right now isn’t safe for you, Dean. It’s not good for you either.”

“N-no.”

Ignoring him, Sam continued. “I didn’t call Dad, because I know you don’t want him to find out about this yet. Of all the hunters we know, only Jim and Bobby have stable homes, but Bobby has the dogs.” Sam tried to smile at Dean, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I figured that was just no good, so I called Pastor Jim. He said that you’d be welcome to stay with him for a while.”

“Sam, you p-promised,” Dean shamelessly pulled out the big guns. “You promised you’d be with me.”

Sam flinched, but the resolve didn’t leave his face. “I know that Dean, but I also promised that I’d keep you safe. If I can’t manage that in a university library, of all places, how am I going to able to protect you out on the road? We don’t know what kind of places finding a cure will take us; I have to know that you’re okay.”

His brother reached out for him, but Dean flinched back. Sam was prattling on about keeping Dean safe, but what he meant was crystal clear. Dean was a burden and all those reassurances about it not being Dean’s fault that he was a coward were a pile of crap.

“You’re just like Dad,” Dean stated, not caring if his words wounded. “You, you get mad at him and resent him, but you’re just like him.”

His comments hit home, but didn’t have the impact that Dean wanted. Sam’s lips thinned, but he didn’t change his mind. “We better start packing. Check-out time is in half an hour.”

It was petulant as hell, but Dean didn’t care. He sat on the bed like a lump and glared at Sam while his younger brother packed all of their belongings up. Sam didn’t complain, just gave him a hurt look and kept on working. Try as he might, though, the minute that Sam went into the bathroom to get the stuff in there, Dean couldn’t stand to be out of sight of him. He followed Sam in and just sat on the toilet while Sam worked. 

“How am I gonna manage at Pastor Jim’s if I can’t stand to be even one room away from you?” Dean pointed out.

“We’ve been staying at Jim’s since were kids,” Sam responded calmly. “It was always Dad’s safe house for us when he was going to be on a hunt for too long. You trust Jim; you’ll be fine.” Maybe Sam wasn’t as sanguine about the whole situation as he was acting, because he added in a rush, “And I’ll stay with you for a while first, to make sure you’ll be all right. Who knows? Jim’s got a lot of research materials; maybe I won’t even need to go anywhere.”

“Maybe,” Dean repeated, but he didn’t have a whole lot of faith that that would turn out to be the case.

Like a lost puppy, Dean followed Sam out to the car to load up the Impala and then to check out. Far too soon, they were about to head out on the open road.

“We can only travel in daylight,” Sam did Dean a kindness and didn’t point out that the limitation was due to Dean’s fear of the dark. “So this is going to take us a few days.”

“Peachy,” Dean slouched down in his seat. The only reason he was still capable of sarcasm was that Sam hadn’t started the car yet. Once he did, Dean’s love for the open road would be ruined by the fear that ran through his veins.

“I think you should take these,” Sam held out two pills, but didn’t force the issue.

Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or not that Sam was giving him a choice this time. Taking them would be admitting a weakness, but refusing would mean utter misery. Silently, Dean took the offered medication and downed them dry.

“This is for the best, Dean,” Sam assured him as he turned the key in the ignition. “You’ll see.”

Not bothering to answer, Dean leaned back in his seat, waiting for the pills to kick in and give him relief. Not relief from the terror that being on the highway would inevitably bring, but from the fact that Dean’s biggest fear of all, even from before the curse, was about to come true.

Sam was leaving him.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

On their second day of travel, Sam was tempted to put in one of Dean’s tapes; the silence was just that unnerving. There was noise in the car; the sound of the Impala’s engine purring and the noise of tires on asphalt, but that was about it. Dean was present physically, but otherwise withdrawn and not all of it could be accounted for by the drug. 

Sam told himself it was necessary. The drug, leaving Dean and everything.

His talk with Dean when he’d told his brother the plan had gone worse than Sam had hoped. The last thing he’d expected was to be compared to their father. Dean obviously hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but even if he had, Sam knew that Dean was wrong. Sam and John Winchester were nothing alike. Their father was high-handed, made decisions based solely on his unrelenting hunter’s creed, and never admitted it when he was wrong. Sam wasn’t like that; he’d been thinking only of Dean’s safety when he decided to take Dean to Pastor Jim’s. Eventually, Sam was sure, Dean would come to realize that.

It wasn’t that Dean was continuing to argue; that would almost be better. Instead, Dean had become docile. He took the pills when Sam gave them to him, ate when food was put in front of him, and continued to share Sam’s bed. Unlike the other nights since he’d been cursed, however, Dean hadn’t sought Sam’s warmth during the night. Dean had stayed on his half of the bed. Sam had woken once to the sound of his brother whimpering in his sleep, no doubt reliving the trauma of almost being molested. Sam had woken him as gently as he could, but Dean had still been wild-eyed at first. Once he realized where he was, Dean had calmed, although he’d shrugged off Sam’s comforting touch and rolled away from him.

It had been a long night.

Sam turned to look at his brother. Dean was in the slouch that was his new body posture while in the Impala. Sam had taken to giving him only one of the pills; it seemed to take the edge of the fear off without making Dean totally out of it. Even so, Dean dozed a lot. Either that or he was pretending to, no doubt to avoid conversation. Cursed or not, some things about Dean hadn’t changed a bit.

After pulling his eyes back to the road, Sam noticed a smudge on the horizon and off a bit to the west. From the looks of it, a storm was rolling in. In and of itself, that was no problem, but Sam had no idea how Dean would react to a thunderstorm.

“Damn,” Sam muttered under his breath. As softly as he’d spoken, though, the tension in his voice was enough to rouse his brother.

“Wha-?” Dean asked as he struggled to sit upright.

“It’s just a few clouds,” Sam told him. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Clouds?” Dean demanded. “As in lightning?”

“Maybe,” Sam replied. “But it’s probably only some rain.”

Just then a flash could be seen far off in the distance, dispelling the reassurance that Sam was trying to give.

“Then what was that, Sammy?”

Sam didn’t bother turning on the radio to find a weather report. He had a vague idea of where they were, but not what county, so any information they gave would be useless to them. The only thing Sam could do was to step on the accelerator, hoping to get them to a motel before the storm hit. He wasn’t genuinely worried about the storm itself; only Dean’s reaction to it. The Impala was not the best of environments for Dean to freak out in.

Luck was with them and there was a motel at the very next turn off. It didn’t even look that bad. Sam slid the Impala into the spot closest to the office and hurried inside, Dean at his heels. There was no one behind the desk, so he rang the bell impatiently.

“Keep yer socks on, I’m movin’ as fast as I can,” an old man came out of the back. “What can I do for you fellas?”

“We need a room,” Sam told him.

The old man gave him a look and then pointedly stared at Dean, who was half-hidden behind Sam. The older Winchester had attention towards the window and was staring at the approaching storm.

“You need a king or two queens?” The clerk finally asked.

“Whatever you got handy,” Sam said quickly as he handed the motel clerk a credit card. “We just want to get inside before that,” he gestured to the sky, “hits.”

“Oh, that? That ain’t nothin’.” The old man claimed. “You should have seen the gully washer that came through here a few years back. . . .”

“I’m sure it was impressive,” Sam interrupted. “But my brother here is afraid of storms. If I don’t get him into a room before it hits, it’s not going to be pretty.”

Unfortunately, the clerk only seemed to have one speed and that was slow. By the time they had their room key, the storm was almost overhead and it was starting to sprinkle. Sam all but pushed Dean into the Impala and drove them recklessly to the other side of the building, where their room was located. He got out, but Dean didn’t, remaining huddled on the passenger side of the car, looking at the sky with something akin to horror. Sam opened his brother’s door and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the vehicle.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” he coaxed. “Just a few steps and we’ll be safe inside.”

The first close lightning flashed as Sam was unlocking the door. Dean cried out softly and pressed against Sam’s back. Both brothers all but fell inside as soon as the door opened. Sam immediately put his arm around Dean, trying to decide where the best place to ride out the storm would be. He briefly considered the bathroom, since there would be no window in there and no way for Dean to see the lightning. Remembering that first night of Dean’s curse, though, and how frightened he’d been when the power had gone out, Sam decided against it. He didn’t want a repeat of that panic.

Keeping an arm around Dean, Sam brought them both to the window and he pulled the drapes to. Like most motels, the curtains were heavy, enough that the fabric blocked out a lot of the lightning flashes. The walls were thin enough, however that the thunder was clearly heard. Dean was trembling as Sam brought them to the bed, which he vaguely noted was a king.

“Shoes,” Sam ordered, immediately toeing his own off. 

Dean was obedient, even in the depths of his fear. While he worked on that, Sam yanked the covers back and, when Dean was done, bundled them both onto the bed. He immediately pulled the covers back and all the way up, so they were over the Winchesters’ heads. 

They’d barely settled when a loud crack of thunder ripped from the sky overhead, sounding as though it was right in the room. Dean whimpered and tried to crawl up Sam’s body. Sam brought his arms around his brother, pulling him close. Dean reacted well to the embrace, burying himself into it and hanging on for dear life.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Sam crooned as he stroked Dean’s back. “You’re safe with me.”

Being in their cocoon of covers the way they were, Sam wasn’t sure how long the storm lasted, but it seemed like a long time. Holding Dean while he was awake was different than when he was sleeping. He hated to feel the trembling running through his brother’s body, but it gave Sam some satisfaction to realize that his presence and touch eased it some for the older man. Eventually, however, Sam realized that the thunder had tapered off and that the only noise coming from outside was the gentle patter of rain.

“Hey, I think it’s over,” Sam said, almost reluctantly. For Dean’s sake, he was glad, but had to admit that he’d enjoyed having an excuse to have Dean in his arms.

“You sure?” Dean also sounded reluctant, although Sam told himself it was the fear talking. 

“Pretty sure,” Sam told him. “But let me check.”

Sam tugged the corner of the covers down and peeked out. There were no more lightning flashes coming through the drapes and, even with the fabric no longer muffling sounds, no thunder. The storm was truly gone.

Damn it.

“Yup, it’s history,” Sam put as much cheerfulness in his voice as he could muster as he drew the blankets down from over both their heads.

Dean let out a deep breath and propped his chin up on Sam’s chest. “I used to like storms.”

The tone was wistful, something that Dean rarely was. Sam looked down. His brother apparently hadn’t gotten over his fright enough yet to realize he was snuggling. On top of that, Dean’s hair was mussed from being under the covers, his face was flushed, his eyes so wide that they looked unusually bright, and his lower lip was plumped from being chewed on.

Sam couldn’t help himself. Before he knew what he was doing, Sam bent down and pressed his lips against Dean’s.

For several heartbeats, Sam’s universe narrowed down to that kiss and the feeling of skin on skin. Eventually, though, his intellect kicked in and it occurred to him that he was kissing his brother. His often-fantasized-about, but unnaturally vulnerable brother.

“Whoa,” Sam broke off the kiss abruptly as he realized what he was doing. “Dean. . . I’m sorry.”

Dean looked up at Sam. “Are you?”

“What?” Sam was confused. He’d half expected Dean to come out of the kiss swinging.

“Sorry?” Dean repeated. “Are you sorry?”

With Dean watching him so calmly, Sam couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Not that I kissed you, but my timing sucks. You’re not exactly yourself right now. . . .”

“Sammy, did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Dean laughed softly. “All you had to say was ‘no.’”

With no hesitation, Dean reached up and wrapped his hand around Sam’s neck, pulling him down. Their second kiss was electric and Sam moaned into it. As it deepened, it wasn’t enough for Sam. Growling, he rolled them over, remembering at the last minute that Dean was cursed.

“Hey,” Sam leaned his weight off his brother so that he could get a good look at Dean’s face. “This doesn’t frighten you, does it?”

Dean grinned, but it softened into a fond smile as he realized that Sam was serious. “I could never be afraid of you, Sammy.”

And he spent the rest of the afternoon proving it.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Dean wasn’t used to waking up next to a lover. Most of the sex partners he ended up with weren’t people he wanted to share the intimacy of sleeping with. Sam, however, was different

Oh, boy, was Sam different.

Now that they’d become lovers, Dean wondered why he’d ever worried about it being wrong. His heart had been given to Sam a long time ago, which was why Dean had gotten into the bad habit of hopping from bed to bed, trying to suppress those feelings about his brother. It had been a revelation to find out that Sam felt the attraction too. If had been just him, Dean could have resisted it forever, but knowing that he could have what he wanted? It freed him. Now, if he could just be free of the curse. 

“You okay?” Sam’s voice was hesitant, but his touch was sure as his hand wandered down Dean’s back.

Dean shivered, nuzzling into Sam’s chest to cover the involuntary reaction. “Peachy.”

Sam’s petting stopped. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dean lifted his head to glare at his brother. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought,” Sam got that pained look on his face, like a puppy that had just been kicked. “That with the curse, you know, that maybe. . . .”

Dean leaned up enough to kiss Sam. “No regrets, Sammy. I may be cursed, but I’m a big boy. I know what I want.”

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam started to smile and within moments, there was a genuine grin tugging at his younger brother’s lips. Sam was normally so solemn that Dean was glad to see the expression, even if the cause mystified him.

“Did I say something funny?” He asked.

“It’s just that we’re in bed together,” Sam smirked. “And you referred to yourself as a big boy.”

“Oh, and you think that should be your title?” Dean huffed. He wasn’t truly offended. In fact, he wanted to encourage Sam’s playfulness. “Well, not all of us are freaky-sized, like you.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining a couple of hours ago,” Sam purred. The sound went right to Dean’s ass, which tightened in memory.

“Yeah, well, I’m easy to please,” Dean claimed. 

“I noticed,” Sam replied, sounding entirely too smug. Remembering their previous activities, though, Dean had to admit that Sam had a right to be.

Grinning, he rolled them until Sam was flat on his back and Dean was perched over him. After wiggling his hips, Dean leaned down and kissed Sam. His brother groaned and wrapped a hand around the back of Dean’s neck, holding him there with ease. When their lips finally parted, Sam’s grip gentled and he nuzzled his face behind Dean’s ear.

“God,” Sam murmured. “It’s going to be so hard to hide this when we get to Jim’s.”

Dean felt a sliver of ice slice into his belly and he started to pull back. “Jim’s? I thought that. . . .” He swallowed heavily. “I thought things had changed.”

Sam’s large hands wrapped around his hips, trapping Dean in place. “Everything has changed, Dean. That’s why I still have to take you to Jim’s.”

“Yeah, you’re just so eager to dump me,” Dean snarked, trying to get away. “So much for Mr. Sensitive.”

“Dean, listen to me,” Sam insisted. “I love you and, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m keeping you safe.”

“Safe, safe, safe.” Dean stopped struggling against Sam’s implacable grip. “You’re like a broken record, Sam.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well I heard it enough growing up. What was the last thing Dad would always say to you before he took off?” When Dean looked away and wouldn’t answer, Sam did. “He told you to look out for me and keep me safe. Well, it’s my turn now and I’m not going to fail. Not again.”

Something told Dean that Sam wasn’t talking about the pervert in the library. He took a close look at his brother’s face and saw the determination there. It occurred to Dean, then, what was going on. Jessica. Sam had loved her, but hadn’t been able to save her from the same fate that had claimed their mother.

“I’m not Jessica, Sam,” Dean told his brother, not backing down when Sam flinched. “I can take care of myself.”

“Really?” Sam retorted. “If that’s true, then why don’t you get out of this bed and go into the bathroom without me?”

“Maybe I will,” Dean blustered.

He started out well enough. Dean threw off the covers and climbed off his brother. The first few steps were easy, but as he padded barefoot across the carpet and father away from Sam, Dean slowed. At the threshold to the bathroom, he stopped. Dean took a deep breath and, after a last look over his shoulder at Sam, made himself make one last step forward.

But damned if he could go any farther. 

Dean stood, trembling. His breath sounded harsh as he panted, even as he mentally kicked himself in the ass. It was just a room. There wasn’t anyone waiting for him behind the shower curtain, ready to stab him. The mirror was probably safe too, since Dean had no intention of whispering ‘Bloody Mary’ once, let alone the necessary three times. No matter how he tried, though, Dean couldn’t force himself all the way into the room, nor could he work up the nerve to turn the light on.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Sam’s body felt like a furnace as he pressed up against Dean from behind. Sam’s arms wrapped around him, his large hands resting on Dean’s belly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Dean.”

Because Sam already knew Dean for a coward.

“You’ll come back, right?” Dean asked, even as he leaned back into Sam’s warmth. He hated it, but he couldn’t stop the neediness from leaking into his voice.

“I promise,” Sam assured him. “And maybe I won’t have to leave at all. Jim’s got a lot of research materials of his own. There’s a good chance he’ll be able to help us figure out a cure.”

Dean told himself that he believed Sam. His brother had left him before, for college, but like Sam said, everything had changed. They hadn’t been lovers then. Now that they were, surely Sam would show Dean the same loyalty he gave to Jessica’s memory.

Trying to shake off his melancholy, Dean turned in Sam’s arms. “Well, as long as we’re in the bathroom, you want to share a shower?”

Sam’s smile looked relieved. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

The shower turned out to be a rather strenuous activity, so the brothers turned in afterwards, despite the earliness of the hour. Dean had to admit that he could get used to sleeping with someone, especially someone as large and warm as Sam. In fact, he slept soundly until a noise intruded on his awareness. Dean woke with a start as the sound happened again. He couldn’t place what it was, which made him nervous.

“Sam?”

“Wh-?” Sam woke at Dean’s voice.

“I, I don’t know what that noise is.” Dean pressed himself close to his brother’s comforting bulk.

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean even as he reached to turn the bedside lamp. “What noise?” 

Just then it sounded again and the sleepy confusion in Sam’s face cleared up. “That’s your phone, Dean. You got a text message.” 

Dean found he resented the gentle voice Sam was using, even as it comforted him. He missed his little brother’s sarcasm and hated that Sam seemed to find him so fragile. His thoughts, though, were sidelined, however, by the thought of who it was that could be contacting him in the middle of the night.

“Maybe it’s Dad,” Dean suggested, struggling to shrug off both Sam and the blankets. Sam’s lips pursed, but he didn’t say anything as Dean dug the phone out of his pants. “It’s coordinates.”

“It figures,” the sarcastic bite was back in Sam’s voice and, once he got a good look at Dean’s face, Sam’s expression hardened even further. “Don’t even think about it, Dean. There’s no way in hell you can work a job in the condition you’re in.”

Dean’s hand hurt and when he looked down, he found himself gripping the phone so hard that he was in danger of shattering it. He made his fingers loosen before he addressed his brother.

“We’ve never turned down a job before because we were afraid,” Dean stated quietly. “And we’re not gonna start now.”

Sam scowled. “The hell we aren’t.”

“If we ignore this, people could die,” Since Sam looked like he was working himself up into a full blown snit, Dean did his best to head it off. “Don’t you do that to me, Sam. Don’t make my cowardice be the cause of somebody’s death.”

His brother was a stubborn man, but also a compassionate one. Dean’s plea caused his expression to soften and Sam gave a deep sigh. “Okay, we’ll look up the coordinates and if it’s not too far off our route, we’ll at least look into it. But if it’s all the way across the country or something, I’m sorry, but it’ll just have to wait until after I can get you to Jim’s. We’re only another day or so away.”

“All right,” Dean agreed easily enough. If it got Sam to at least consider looking into what their dad had sent them, Dean would agree to just about anything. If the job was halfway across the country, he’d just deal with it some other way.

Heedless of it being the middle of the night, Sam powered up his laptop. They’d gotten so used to tracking down the coordinates their father sent them that it only took a few minutes for Sam to have the results.

“Well?” Dean prodded, impatient.

“Lincoln, Nebraska.” Sam seemed reluctant to answer.

Dean was smart enough not to make a display of triumph. “That’s pretty much on our way, right?” He commented mildly, even though he knew damn well that it was exactly on their way.

“Yeah,” Sam shut his computer down and turned a serious face towards Dean. “All right, we’ll check it out, but I swear to God, Dean, you’re going to do what I say, when I say to do it. You’re in no condition to lead a hunt and, no matter what, keeping you safe is my number one priority.”

“Okay, Sam,” Dean replied, with uncharacteristic meekness. He knew when it was better to not push his luck. “I’ll follow your lead on this one.”

“You better,” Sam muttered. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. “The first place I’m going to lead is to bed. We should get up at dawn.”

Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “You dog, ordering me to bed like that.”

“To sleep, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s comment, but a smile pulled at his lips. “Just to sleep.”

Despite Dean following Sam’s instructions, not a lot of sleeping actually happened. Unfortunately, it wasn’t because of any frisky activities, but due to each brother being wrapped up in his own concerns.

Once they hit the road, Dean refused the sedative for the first time. It made the ride more uncomfortable, but Dean toughed it out. It was important to him to establish with Sam that, cursed or not, he wasn’t completely worthless. From his expression, Dean’s choice worried his brother, but Sam didn’t protest and that was all that mattered to Dean.

He was even more pleased when they made it to Lincoln without him wetting his pants. Dean would die before admitting it, but it had actually been a close call a couple of times.

They hit town in the late afternoon and it hadn’t taken long to figure out why their father had sent them. There had been three mysterious deaths in as many weeks, unusual even for a city of Lincoln, Nebraska’s size. Each victim was found in their home, with no sign of forced entry and no obvious cause of death. What made foul play pretty much a given was that each victim was missing his or her hands.

The story was all over the local media and was the talk of the town. With Dean still afraid of the dark, they hadn’t had much time to research before retreating to a motel. Luckily, simply picking up a couple of newspapers was sufficient to get the rough details, enough for Sam to be able to continue his own investigation using the internet.

“The latest victim was Robert Koch,” Sam explained. “He was a professional musician. At night, he played keyboards with a local band that did covers of 80s music. During the day, he played background piano music for the big department store in town.”

“A piano player with missing hands?” One of Dean’s eyebrows went up. He’d been watching TV listlessly, but used the remote to shut the television set off when Sam first started reporting his results. “That’s no coincidence.”

“Not hardly,” Sam snorted. “The second victim was Marilyn Peabody.”

“Let me guess, she did cover tunes too,” Dean interjected. “Madonna or Janet Jackson or something.”

Sam smiled. “Not really. She was a retired nurse.”

“Damn,” Dean frowned. “So much for the pianist theory.”

“Not so quick,” Sam corrected him. “It said in her obituary that Marilyn was her church’s organist.”

Dean sat up. “And the first vic? Any piano tie-ins?”

Sam deflated. “Not that I can see. We’ll have to interview his wife tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean reached over and rubbed his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe he listened to Barry Manilow or something.” Dean’s expression grew contemplative. “Although, on second thought, he’d probably be missing his ears if that was the case.” 

“I don’t know, I kind of like ‘Mandy,’” Sam commented as he powered down his computer.

“For the love of God, Sam, could you be any more of a girl?”

Sam grinned and Dean knew he’d been had. 

“You think you’re funny,” Dean stated. 

“Just a little,” Sam admitted. He stretched and winced. For a man of Sam’s size, it could be painful to be hunched over a computer screen for hours at a time.

“C’mon, Sam, let’s get you into the shower and loosen some of those muscles,” Dean got up from the bed and held out a hand to his brother. “Maybe I’ll show you who’s really the big boy in this outfit.”

The brothers slept better that night.

The next day found them outside the house of the original victim, one Carmine Johnson. They hadn’t called ahead of time, not wanting the widow of the dead man to have a chance to check up on their cover. Dean shifted nervously from foot to foot. Sam wasn’t going to be able to use an autism excuse this time and he wasn’t sure what his brother had planned to explain Dean’s unusual behavior.

Sam seemed to read his mind. As they heard footsteps approach the door, Sam handed Dean a thin badge holder. “Don’t say anything and try to keep a stoic face. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The door was opened, revealing a woman about their dad’s age. She looked careworn and had red-rimmed eyes. Dean felt bad about disturbing her grief, but figured it was worth it if they stopped whatever nasty had killed her husband.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“We’re sorry to bother you,” Sam opened the conversation. He held up his ID and Dean did the same. Even though he hadn’t looked at it yet, he trusted Sam to keep their asses’ covered. Sam continued. “This is Detective Spears and I’m Detective Lohan.”

Despite the fear that always accompanied encountering a stranger, Dean stifled a growl. It was the last time he was letting Sam take care of their fake IDs.

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Johnson responded. “I’ve talked to all sorts of policemen already.”

“I know, ma’am, but we’re new on the case,” Sam used all his charm on her. “It would really help us out to hear your story in person.”

The widow was unable to resist Sam’s earnestness. She let them in and a few minutes later Dean was seated on a couch, a silent observer as Sam began to question her. He relaxed minutely as Sam’s gentle voice coaxed Mrs. Johnson through the horror of finding her husband’s body.

“And that’s all I know,” she finished relating the events of that night. “I called 911 and the police showed up a few minutes later. It was too late, though, Carmine was gone.” Dean felt eyes on him. “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“I’m a junior detective and he’s my supervisor,” Sam flashed his dimples at her. “He’s just here to make sure that I don’t mess up.”

As Sam continued to question the woman about her husband’s habits and acquaintances, he kept his voice gentle. To his surprise, Dean found himself slowly becoming jealous; that voice was his. He’d become used to Sam using it to soothe him and, while he resented the curse that made it necessary, hadn’t realized how much he’d grown to enjoy being talked to in a loving tone. As he listened more closely, however, Dean realized that Sam was talking to Mrs. Johnson with care, but not with the love that was the undercurrent when he spoke to Dean. It helped, but only a little, and Dean cast around for things to distract him. The curse made him scared, but if he didn’t get a handle on his jealousy, he might strike out at Mrs. Johnson anyway.

Unfortunately for Dean, a distraction found him.

A calico cat peeked at him from around the corner and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Normally, Dean was okay with cats. He liked their “go to hell” attitude and skilled laziness. As the dainty creature decided to enter the room, however, and delicately made its way over to them, all Dean could think about was witches’ familiars and being scratched. It didn’t matter that a cat scratch was nothing compared to something like a werewolf or any number of other monsters they encountered regularly; Dean was petrified.

With the unerring feline sense of knowing when someone is afraid of cats, the calico sauntered over to Dean unnoticed by Sam or its owner. It rubbed up against his leg, purring loudly. Dean tensed and did his best not to whimper.

“Fluffy, you naughty thing,” Mrs. Johnson had finally noticed her wayward pet. “Detective Spears doesn’t need your cat hair all over his suit.”

Sam belatedly realized his brother’s problem. “Actually, my partner is allergic to cats. Deathly allergic.”

“In that case, I’ll just put her in the other room,” the widow got up from her seat and, to Dean’s immense relief, picked up her cat. “Come here Fluffy.”

The woman put the disgruntled cat over her shoulder and had her back to the brothers as she headed towards the adjoining room. The cat stared balefully at Dean as it was carried away, dignity in tatters. Dean couldn’t help it, he shuddered. Those eyes were downright unnatural.

“Hang on for just a few more minutes,” Sam murmured. With Mrs. Johnson’s attention on her pet and not them, he briefly put a hand on Dean’s knee. “We’re almost done here.”

The next room was a formal dining room. The door had been closed when they entered the house, but Mrs. Johnson opened it to put her cat inside. As the woman put Fluffy on the floor and nudged the cat back with a foot, the brothers both noticed an upright piano crowded to the dining room’s far wall. While Mrs. Johnson was occupied with pulling the pocket door to, they exchanged a significant glance.

“Did your husband play the piano?” Sam asked. 

“Heavens, no,” the widow laughed. “Carmine was tone deaf.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “What I wouldn’t give to hear him singing off key in the shower just once more, though.”

“Did you play, then?” Sam pressed gently. 

Dean tried to pay closer attention to the conversation, but Fluffy wasn’t taking being shut up in the other room well at all. A white paw could be seen thrusting up from underneath the door and all Dean could think about was that the cat was going to get out. No doubt it would blame him for its incarceration and attack him the moment it was free.

“Oh, the piano,” Mrs. Johnson was evidently responding to a question of Sam’s. “No, I don’t play either. Carmine recently inherited it from his cousin and was trying to sell it on eBay. I wasn’t too happy at it taking over my dining room, but it was supposed to be for only a week or two. Neither of us played and, besides, it was an unhappy reminder.”

“Unhappy reminder?” Sam prompted. “Did something bad happen to your husband’s cousin?”

Mrs. Johnson sighed. “Poor dear. Louisa was a nice girl, but a little emotional, if you know what I mean. She was on medication, but had a hard time holding a job. Her piano was her whole life, especially after her parents died. When she lost use of her hands after an accident, she went completely mad. She committed suicide a few months ago.”

“And your husband inherited her piano?” Sam asked.

“Yes, he was her only relative,” the widow explained. “Louisa had been living in an assisted care facility for years and it took the insurance company some time to settle things with the place that had been caring for her.”

After that, Sam quickly wrapped things up, Not only did they have a piano link with the original victim, but they had a likely candidate for their unhappy spirit. After bidding Mrs. Johnson farewell, they headed back to the car. Dean was glad to see the last of the house and, especially, Fluffy.

“Mentally unbalanced dead woman looking for new hands,” Dean stated as he settled into the Impala’s passenger seat. “Sounds like a slam dunk to me.”

“Pretty much,” Sam agreed. “I don’t even think we need to find a link to the other two victims. Restless spirits have a knack for finding the type of people that suit their purposes.” He started up the car. “We do, however, have to find out where Louisa is buried.” He hadn’t quite been able to work that bit of information into the conversation.

Dean hunched down in the car. The Impala was a safety zone for him, but only when it wasn’t moving. “The library?”

“The library,” Sam confirmed. He gave Dean a pointed look. “And you are not leaving my sight, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Dean closed his eyes. “Loud and clear.”

Dean kept his word, acting as Sam’s shadow the entire time they were researching Louisa Johnson’s suicide and burial. The librarian gave them some strange looks, but they were getting better at ignoring those.

“Hey, I have a connection to our second vic,” Sam stated as he read Louisa’s obituary. “Louisa Johnson’s funeral took place at Marilyn Peabody’s church. Marilyn probably played at her funeral.”

Dean shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Probably not,” Sam admitted. “But I like it better when the pieces all fit together.”

Once they found out where Louisa was buried, they had little to do but wait until the middle of the night, when they could go in to do a salt and burn. They spent the time in their motel, arguing.

“No way, Sammy,” Dean was vehement. “You are not doing this without me. You need someone to watch your back.”

“Dean, this is a simple job; I bet you did stuff like this by yourself all the time when I was still in college,” Sam pointed out.

Dean clenched his jaw; he didn’t like to be reminded of those years. “Sure, if you’re on your own and there’s no choice, you go solo. But you’re not by yourself, are you?”

Sam scrubbed at his forehead. “Dean, in the condition you’re in, can you really tell me that you’re capable of walking into a graveyard? At night?”

“I’m sure as hell gonna try,” Dean stated flatly. For once, he managed to out stubborn his brother.

“Okay, fine, have it your way,” Sam threw his hands up in surrender. “You can try to come with me tonight.”

Dean chose to ignore the use of the word ‘try,’ but even so, was suspicious at how easy Sam gave in. He made a mental note not to eat or drink anything until time to go. Sam wasn’t normally the best sneak in the world, but he’d exhibited an unhealthy concern for Dean’s well-being. Sam might just try and slip something into Dean’s food, something that would cause Dean to sleep and miss the whole thing.

The rest of the evening passed slowly, with Sam becoming more and more agitated as the night wore on. Dean refused the pizza Sam had delivered, wouldn’t drink any soda, and wasn’t even tempted by the munchies they had left over. Sam was all but ready to pull his hair out by the time it was late enough to head to the cemetery, but Dean was amused. Sam should have known that, as sneaky as he thought he was being, Dean would always be sneakier. He was, after all, the older brother.

“I guess it’s time to go,” Dean stated as the clock finally hit midnight. “And here I am, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Funny thing, I’m not the least big sleepy.”

Sam looked irritated, but didn’t protest. “You’re welcome to try. Just remember, if you can’t handle it, it’s really not your fault. I can go by myself.”

“No way,” Dean shook his head. “I’ve got your back, Sammy.”

Pure bravado helped Dean walk to the motel room door and open it as though his heart wasn’t about to pound right out of his check. Once the door was open, Dean gulped. There was a whole lot of night out there.

“Come on,” Sam’s voice was soft. “The Impala’s parked right there, under the light.” 

With Sam’s hand on the small of his back, Dean made it to the car without anything jumping out of him from the shadows. Sam opened the car and made a show of checking it out. “Get in, the coast is clear.”

Dean slid into the passenger seat, comforted by the fact that Sam had checked the back seat for boogie men or anything else that might be hiding out back there. Sam went around the front of the car to get to the driver’s side. Dean didn’t like him to be that far out of reach, but at least Sam stayed within sight. 

Once Sam was seated, Dean managed a weak grin. “Piece of cake.”

Sam looked skeptical, but started the car without saying anything. The drive to the cemetery was tense, with Dean trying his best not to startle at every little thing. Funny, how he never noticed there were so many shadows and mysterious shapes at night. So much of a hunter’s work took place at night that they were half nocturnal, but thanks to the curse, the night held nothing but terror for Dean.

Whispering Oaks Cemetery was off a quiet street next to a residential neighborhood. Sam pulled around to the back; it wouldn’t do for the Impala to be seen by a nosy neighbor. He found a streetlamp to park underneath, but once he shut the car off, both Winchesters just sat quietly.

“I suppose we have to get the stuff out of the trunk and go in,” Sam finally stated. “Sitting here isn’t going to put Louisa Johnson to rest.”

“Yeah,” Dean responded, not moving. “I suppose we should.”

Sam opened his car door first and Dean followed suit, not wanting to be left behind. As both men made their way to the back of the car, Dean looked around nervously. He knew all too well what could lurk around a cemetery.

“All right, we need lighter fluid and matches,” Sam said as he thrust the items he named into a duffle. He didn’t really need to verbalize a packing list; both of them could prepare for a salt and burn in their sleep. Sam was probably just trying to keep up a verbal patter to make Dean feel better. “I’ll take the sawed off with the extra salt rounds. You want a handgun?”

Dean shook himself. He’d been distracted by the night sounds all around them and trying not to startle too badly. “What?” Belatedly, he realized that Sam was holding out a gun. “Oh yeah. Right.”

Since being cursed, Dean hadn’t handled a gun, being too afraid of their potential danger. He knew, though, that there was no way that Sam would allow him to go into a graveyard unarmed, so he accepted the gun. Dean held it gingerly and Sam pursed his lips, but didn’t point out that Dean was afraid of the very weapon that might end up protecting him.

“Let’s go,” Sam stated and turned towards the path that would take them into the cemetery. He had the duffle on one shoulder and the shotgun tucked under his arm. He held a flashlight in a loose grip with one hand. The other, he held out to Dean. Dean was embarrassed, but took the hand anyway. He was going to need it.

Dean tried, he really did. He kept a death grip on Sam’s hand, trying to concentrate on it as a way to block out everything around him. Unfortunately, that left his mind free to imagine all sorts of things ready to pounce out at him from the tombstones. A breeze rustling some leaves sounded like an angry spirit and made him startle. The hooting of an owl took on a sinister air and when a car alarm went off in the distance, Dean just about jumped out of skin. The light from the flashlight that Dean was carrying shook as his hand trembled uncontrollably. 

Sam stopped. “Dean. . . .”

“I c-c-c-an m-m-m-m-mmanage,” Dean protested before his brother could get out another word. “P-p-p-lease.”

“I hate to see you torture yourself like this,” Sam retorted. “You could wait in the car; I wouldn’t think less of you.”

He might not, but Dean would. “N-n-n-n-no.”

Sam studied him, but ended up sighing and wrapping his arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Come on.”

The next few steps were uneventful, but then Sam’s flashlight sputtered and went out. It happened just as they came to the top of a small hill and Dean cried out as a figure appeared out of the darkness. He clutched at Sam’s arm and pulled his brother to a stop.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Sam soothed as he dropped the duffle and pulled Dean into his arms.. “It’s just a statue.”

Dean buried his face into Sam’s shoulder and gave in to his need to be comforted. Everything about being in a cemetery at night came crashing down on him at once. From his childhood, he’d known what kind of nasties hung out in graveyards. He’d always approached the places with educated caution before, but thanks to the Barroso bitch’s curse, he was wimping out like the rankest of amateurs. 

“I think I better take you back to the Impala,” Sam said quietly after the worst of Dean’s shudders had tapered off. To add insult to injury, Sam’s flashlight had started working again.

It was painfully obvious, even to Dean, that Sam was right. Wordlessly, he nodded. Sam patted him on the back, gathered up the gear he’d dropped, and started leading them the opposite way. The cemetery didn’t seem quite so frightening now that they were leaving, or maybe it was just defeat.

Once they got back to the car, Sam silently unlocked it and put Dean inside. Dean remained docile and allowed himself to be manhandled. 

“Okay, after I shut the door, you lock it,” Sam instructed. Dean nodded and watched as Sam dug out his cell phone. “We’ll be in touch the whole time I’m in there.” 

He punched a couple of buttons and Dean’s phone started ringing a few moments later. Dean grimaced and pulled his own out. He flipped it open and was glad his voice only shook a little when he answered it. “Bitch.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, well, just don’t shoot me when I come back.”

Dean looked down. He’d completely forgotten the gun he was still clutching. “It’s only salt, don’t be such a pussy.”

“You good?” Sam asked, his smile sliding. “We can just bug out and I can come back after I take you to Jim’s.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. At least being in the safety of the Impala put a stop to that embarrassing stutter. “Have to burn her tonight. I’ll be okay.”

Sam looked at him for a long time before finally lowering his head. “All right.” He picked up his gear again. “Remember, we’ll be in touch the whole time I’m gone.”

“Yeah.”

“And I won’t be very far.” Sam assured him. “You give the word and I can be back to the car in a couple of minutes.”

The last thing in the world that Dean really wanted was for Sam to leave, but it had to be done. “Will you just go already?”

Sam smiled sheepishly. “I guess I am being a little bit of a mother hen, huh?”

Dean tried his best to smile. “Y’think?”

“Well, I learned from the best,” Sam leaned in and kissed Dean quickly. “After I close the door, lock it.”

It almost physically hurt when Sam pulled back, but Dean manage not to beg him to stay. After all, it was Dean who had insisted that Sam put an end to Louisa Johnson. He nodded sharply and after Sam shut the door, locked it. True, it took his shaking fingers a couple of tries to manage, but he did. Sam smiled at his success and saluted him before walking away quickly.

“S-sam?” Dean spoke frantically into the phone. His brother turned back around and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dean?” Sam started to move back towards him.

“I’m okay, Sam,” Dean hastened to assure him. “Just ch-checking. Keep going.”

To Dean’s immense relief, Sam didn’t give him a hard time about freaking. His younger brother just waved and turned back to his path.

“So, Dean,” Sam’s voice came through the cell phone loud and clear, if a little breathless. By the time he got out of Dean’s sight, Sam had started trotting. “Where’s the weirdest place you ever made love?”

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it in surprise. After putting it back, he questioned his brother. “What?”

“Hey, I just thought you’d appreciate getting your mind off things,” Dean could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “And, knowing you, the best way to do that is to talk about sex.”

Even though his brother couldn’t see him, Dean smiled. Sam knew him too well.

“So?” Sam was a persistent bugger. “Where was it?”

Just then a breeze blew a plastic bag in front of the Impala. Dean startled. “What the fu-. . . . ?”

Sam’s response was quick and sharp. “Dean? You okay?”

“I’m f-fine, Sam,” Dean reassured his brother. He put his hand over his heart and ordered it to stop beating so fast. “Back of a hearse.”

It was Sam’s turn to be startled. “What? You made love in the back in the back of a hearse? Please tell me it was with someone who was alive.”

“Um, yeah,” Dean was distracted by the movement of nearby trees. It was probably just the wind, but he kept his eyes riveted on them. 

“Making love?” Sam prompted, sounding worried. “Hearse?”

“Diana Princeton,” Dean answered. “Hot cheerleader babe. Definitely alive.” It occurred to Dean that it was Sam’s turn. “And you? Where’s the kinkiest place you got it on?”

“Hey, I found Louisa’s grave,” Sam said instead of answering the question. “Look, I can’t dig and hold the phone at the same time. I’m going to put the phone down on the tombstone, so you’ll still be able to hear me.”

“No fair,” Dean complained. “You started this, you have to answer the question.”

“Look, I’ll still keep talking, but I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to hear you,” Sam told him. “If you need me, just yell really loud. I’ll stop digging every few minutes and check on you.”

The next half an hour was spent in the strangest conversation that Dean had ever had. Sam’s plan for putting the phone down worked. He could hear his brother’s voice as Sam kept up a steady stream of words, although Sam’s voice was fainter than Dean was comfortable with. Just as it seemed that Dean was about to crawl out of his skin with fear, Sam would come back to the phone and Sam would reassure him. It wasn’t ideal, but Dean was hanging on.

“I just hit the coffin,” Sam finally said. It took a long time to dig six feet down by yourself. “I’ll be done in a min-. . . .”

Sam’s voice cut off in a stream of static.

“Sam?” Dean whispered into the phone, terror making his voice small. When there was no response, he managed to increase the volume on his next try. “Sam!”

Of in the distance, Dean heard the distinctive sound of a gunshot.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hit the dashboard with his hand. He knew he never should have let Sam go in alone. “Sam?”

There was no response, not even another gunshot.

Dean opened the car door and got one leg out before the magnitude of what he had to do hit him. He had to go into the cemetery, alone, at night, and probably confront a ghost. He didn’t know if he could do it, but the alternate was Sam dying. That was something Dean definitely couldn’t accept. 

Another gunshot came and the sound galvanized Dean to action. He stuffed his phone into his coat pocket, after determining it remained on and that Sam still wasn’t answering. He still had his flashlight and he turned it on, holding it in one hand and his gun in the other. If neither one was steady, at least there was no one around to see.

The first few steps were torture. Dean’s muscles were tense to the point where it was difficult to move, but he pushed passed the fear. Sam needed him. He kept his eyes on the path and that worked, until a sudden noise startled him. Dean came to a halt when he detected movement out of the corner of his eye and he whimpered. A figure low to the ground came scuttling into the light and the flashlight’s beam bounced off animal eyes. A raccoon gave Dean a startled look, almost as scared as Dean was, and trundled into the night.

Dean couldn’t make himself move.

“Come on, you coward,” he snarled at himself. “Sam needs you.”

It almost took taking his hands and lifting his leg up to get himself to start walking, but in his own way, Dean was as stubborn as his brother. He took one step and then another. When those were successful with nothing happening, the movement became a little easier.

He heard another gunshot.

“Sam!”

Before he knew it, Dean was trotting. Once he got to the top of the hill, the one that marked the furthest he’d been in the cemetery, Dean could see a light. It had to be Sam’s flashlight. The trot became a run when he saw a kneeling form in the edge of the light. 

Sam.

His brother was on his knees and clawing at the spectral hand that was around his throat. The spirit’s other hand was around Sam’s wrist and, from the looks of it, was squeezing hard. Dean remembered that the three victims had been missing their hands and doubled his speed.

“Get away from him, you bitch!” He yelled as he got close enough.

Louisa Johnson wasn’t as decrepit looking as some of the spirits they’d encountered, but there was an insane light in her eyes as she dropped Sam and whirled to face the new threat. Dean shot her in the head with a couple of rounds before she could make another move. The ghost dissipated and Dean dropped to his brother’s side.

“Sam?” Dean tilted Sam’s head up so he could look in his brother’s face. Thankfully, Sam was conscious and even smiled at him.

“I almost had her,” Sam gasped. “But every time I hit her with the rock salt, she came right back.”

Dean nodded. “Which means we don’t have much time.” He lifted his gaze from Sam and started checking the perimeter. So far, no Louisa. “Can you move?”

Sam gave him an odd look, but accepted the hand Dean offered to help him up. “I’m okay,” he rubbed his neck. “Pianists have strong hands.”

“Yeah, well, she probably wanted those paws of yours,” Dean saw a flash of movement and barked at Sam. “Down.”

Sam dropped, revealing Louisa right behind him. Without hesitating, Dean fired several more shots. The ghost squealed before dissipating again. 

“We have to finish this bitch off before someone reports all the gunfire,” Dean commented. “You okay to dig?”

“Not necessary,” Sam grabbed the shovel. “All I’ve got to do is pry the lid off and do the burn.”

“Go ahead,” Dean nodded. “I’ll keep watch.”

Sam dropped into the grave and got to work, leaving Dean to do what he did best; protect his brother. Louisa must have sensed that her end was near, because even as fast as Sam worked, she still managed to form one last time. Dean used the shotgun that time and, by the time she was back, Sam had soaked her remains with lighter fluid and salt before dropping the match. The ghost shrieked and the brothers knew that this last time when she dissipated, there would be no coming back.

It was over.

“Dean?” Sam asked as they watched the fire die down. “What happened?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Dean retorted. “How did you let an insane piano player get the drop on you? I mean, really, Sammy. You’re slipping.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sam explained. “Haven’t you noticed? You’re not afraid anymore.”

Dean blinked. “I guess I just saw that bitch strangling you and forgot to be scared.”

Sam started to smile. “You cured yourself.”

“That’s all it took?” Dean was relieved and irritated at the same time. “You mean I could have fixed myself at any point?” 

His brother tilted his head. “I suppose you just had to reclaim your courage. No counter spell could have done that for you.”

“What about the library pervert?” Dean persisted. “I was plenty scared of him.”

Sam leaned over and kissed him gently. “Because you’re Dean and you never take care of yourself the way you take care of me. You couldn’t push beyond the fear on your own behalf, but you did when I was in danger.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as something occurred to him. “You didn’t play damsel in distress just to cure me, did you? Because if you did, I’m gonna kick your ass for taking that kind of risk.”

“I might have if I would have thought of it,” Sam admitted. “But I didn’t.”

The fire died down and brothers made short work of filling the grave in. They didn’t speak as they moved dirt, which gave Dean time to think. As they headed back to the car, Dean broached a subject that had occurred to him. It was one he’d rather not have to address, but felt it was best to get it over with quickly.

“You know, Sam,” Dean started out tentatively. “If you don’t want me now that I’m, you know, normal, I’ll understand.”

Sam had been walking ahead of his brother and came to a complete stop. “Are you insane? Of course I still want you. I was in love with you long before this stupid curse.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam assured him. He grabbed Dean’s shirt and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

Even though they’d hardly been apart in the days since the curse, Dean knew exactly what Sam meant. “Yeah, I missed me too.”

“That’s not to say,” Sam blushed. “That I wouldn’t mind getting to hold you. But I can do it at night, in whatever motel we happen to be in. It doesn’t have to be in public or anything.”

“I think I can manage that,” Dean conceded. He loved the way his reply made Sam grin and he kissed his brother quickly before starting towards the car again. “You don’t suppose there’s anything else around here I can kill, do you? I’m in the mood for a hunt.”

Sam caught up to Dean, bumping his hip against his brother’s. “We could still go to Pastor Jim’s; he’s always got a hunt lined up.”

They reached the Impala and Dean opened the trunk. He slung the duffle inside and waited until Sam replaced the shovel and shotgun before closing it. 

“I think I’d rather go back to Tucson,” he told Sam.

“Tucson?” Sam looked downright adorable when he was confused. “Why would you want to go back there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean tried to sound nonchalant. “There’s a certain professor there that I’d like to track down. Let’s see how attractive he finds me now that I’m capable of feeding him his own balls.”

“Dean,” Sam sounded worried. “I know that what Dr. Walden tried to do to you was bad, but he’s human. We leave the human scum to the legal authorities to deal with. You can’t kill him.”

Dean grabbed his brother and kissed him soundly. “Oh, I’m not going to kill him.” Dean’s grin grew feral.

“I’m just gonna scare him a little.”

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Dr. Timothy Walden scanned the letter in his hand before crumpling it up and tossing it away. Rejected and he knew who to blame. Carolyn Pine had been sticking her nose into his business for the last week or so. He did not know what bug had crawled up the old biddy’s ass, but she was on him like white on rice. For a petite old woman, she knew how to stir up a lot of trouble.

It wasn’t like he was a pervert. He didn’t go after boys. No, he preferred to introduce young men to the pleasures of sharing their bodies with another male. That he liked them young and fresh was a personal preference, but he was careful that they were always legal adults. They might be a little reluctant to take him at first, but his young men always capitulated in the end and each surrender was gratifying.

The sweet thing in the library had been a revelation. He’d been attracted by the obvious beauty, although he’d come dangerously close to dismissing him as too old for his taste. A closer look, however, had revealed how fragile the young man had been emotionally. Tim had hung around for hours, watching and wanting, until the sweet thing’s guard dog had wandered off and left him alone. Then he’d pounced.

Tim’s balls ached at the rest of that particular memory. It had been child’s play to spirit away his target, but he hadn’t counted on the guard dog finding them so quickly. He’d been taking his time, savoring the trembling in his sweet thing’s body, when the tall young man that had been accompanying his intended found them. He’d pegged the tall puppy as being inexperienced, but he’d been wrong. It was over a week later and he was only now beginning to function sexually without causing pain. It’d been so bad that he’d been tempted to go to a doctor, but wasn’t confident that he could explain his injuries, so had suffered at home.

Until he could go back on the prowl again, Walden had come up with a plan. The sweet thing in the library had obviously been damaged in some way. Helpless in a way that had been sexy as hell. There had to be more like him and it occurred to Walden that volunteering to work with the disabled might be a way to meet them. He’d put in his application to volunteer at a local center that worked with disabled and troubled youth. As a university professor, he’d been sure that his application was a mere formality.

He was wrong.

That damn anthropology woman, not even a professor of a bona fide discipline as far as Walden was concerned, had started making trouble for him. She hadn’t come out and accused him of impropriety yet, but had started making inquiries into his past relationships. And, whenever Tim went out to the library or other likely trawling spots, Pine or one of her grad students was always in the background. Watching.

Pine was behind his rejection from the center, Walden was sure of it. He just couldn’t prove it and, until his cell phone turned up, he didn’t want to make too many waves about it. 

His doorbell rang, interrupting his mental rant. Since it was dark outside, Walden was careful to look through peephole instead of immediately opening the door. Who knew what sort of scum was out there?

When he did, though, Walden was pleasantly surprised. The young man on the other side of the door was none other than his sweet thing from the library. Well, well, well.

Not positive that he wasn’t being set up by Pine, Walden opened the door only a crack, not even enough to completely pull the security chain taunt. “Can I help you?”

The sweet thing looked away and licked his lips. Walden almost moaned as he saw the moisture glisten on that plump lower lip.

“Dr. Walden?” The sweet thing’s voice was soft and hesitant. “Did, did you mean w-what you said? In the library the other day?”

“I don’t know,” Tim purred. “I said a lot of things. Which one are you talking about?”

Another swipe of that tongue almost undid him.

“W-when you said you could teach me,” the sweet thing’s voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “Teach me things.”

“I don’t know,” Walden played coy. “Where’s that guard puppy dog of yours.”

The sweet thing looked down. “He-he left me all b-by myself.” Indeed, Walden couldn’t see sign of the tall young man.

“Well, in that case, maybe you should come inside.” 

Walden undid the security chain and opened the door wide. As he did, he lost sight of the sweet thing for just a moment. He was surprised, then, to see all signs of shyness gone when he came fully face to face with his former prey.

“Don’t mind if I do,” the man said, a cocky, confident grin on his face. 

Then his fist came up and Walden saw nothing at all as his world went abruptly, painfully black.

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 11/11/07
> 
> The episode "Yellow Fever" originally aired October 2008, nearly a year after this was written. Not that I'm implying that the show borrowed from my story (that would be ridiculous!) but only that I didn't borrow from the episode.


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